











NEELY’S POPULAR LIBRARY 


A MODERN PROPHETESS 
POINT VIVIAN 

BY 

HELEN HAR.ING 



WITH THIS I CONQUER 


F. TENNYSON NEELY, Publisher 


NEW YORK 


LONDON 


CHICAGO 























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POINT 

VIVIAN. 


HELEN HARING. ^VAAA J< ) 

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F. TENNYSON NEELY, 

PUBLISHER. 

114 

Fifth Avenue, 

NEW YORK. 


CHICAGO. 


LONDON. 



/O 

<0 


43122 




Copyright, 1899, 
by 

F. Tennyson Neely 
in 

United States 
and 

Great Britain. 


All Rights Reserved. 


TWO COPIES RECEIVED. 

i < c 

* 


iOT 


SECOND COPY,, 

"t^sfer of 


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iiSifin 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTEE I. pagr 

Point Vivian 5 

CHAPTER II. 

Clifton Cottage 11 

CHAPTER III. 

The Strange Cavalier 18 

CHAPTER IV. 

Mait’s Tribulation 22 

CHAPTER V. 

A Trip Through Fairyland 25 

CHAPTER VI. 

An Early Surprise 33 

CHAPTER VII. 

Ethel’s Fishing 35 

CHAPTER VIII. 

Pandora Appears 40 

CHAPTER IX. 

A Midnight Alarm 43 

CHAPTER X. 

Rose Terrace 45 

CHAPTER XI. 

The Magic Key 52 

CHAPTER XII. 

Janet’s Secret 55 


IV 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER XIII. 

FACU5 

A Midnight Tragedy 

61 

CHAPTER XIV. 

A Trip Through Paradise 

65 

CHAPTER XV. 

Ashton’s Mystery 


CHAPTER XVI. 

Ethel’s Warning 

79 

CHAPTER XVII. 

The Novel Masquerade 

85 

CHAPTER XVIII. 

The Serpent in Eden 

96 

CHAPTER XIX. 

Adrian Solves the Problem 

104 

CHAPTER XX. 

A Fortunate Accident 

107 

CHAPTER XXI. 

Will Conquers Fate 

112 

CHAPTER XXII. 

Mait Comes to the Rescue 

119 

CHAPTER XXIII. 

Florence and John 

125 

CHAPTER XXIV. 

Ashton’s Secret 


CHAPTER XXV. 

The Guardian’s Confession 



A Modern Prophetess 


153 


POINT VIVIAN. 


CHAPTER I. 

“POINT VIVIAN.” 

“Cars, for Clayton. All aboard.” 
The crowded train rushes out of the 
depot. 

“This way, miss,” said the conductor 
to Janet Douglas. “I will find you a 
seat.” 

But the cars are crowded. Janet fol- 
lows the conductor, till the last car is 
reached. 

A tall gentleman, with brown eyes, 
rises. 

“Allow me, miss, to offer you a seat.” 

“Thank you,” said Janet gratefully. 

The sky darkens. The rain pours 
down. 

“My new hat,” thinks Janet, dis- 
mayed, “and no umbrella.” 


6 


POINT VIVIAN. 


“Clayton,” calls the brakeman. 

“Pardon me. Can I assist you?” 

Janet hesitated. He was a stranger. 
Suppose he eloped with her valise? He 
had a sincere, genial face. “If you 
please.” She handed him her check. 

“With pleasure. You had better go 
aboard at once,” he said genially. “It 
is raining hard.” 

Janet daintily gathered up her skirts, 
and followed the noisy crowd on board 
the boat. 

Her volunteer protector stood like a 
statue of Patience, with the rain pouring 
down. “I am sorry you had to wait so 
long,” she said as he joined her. 

“That was nothing,” he said, shrugging 
his broad, graceful shoulders. “I was 
only too glad to assist you.” 

“I will be very dignified,” thought 
Janet, “and merely thank him.” 

“May I sit here?” he asked court- 
eously. Janet could not refuse after his 
efforts. 

“Your first visit,” he said; “too bad, 
the rain hides the view. The river is 


POINT VIVIAN. 


7 


like an emerald, the isles exquisite. 
This is Bound Island. That immense 
hotel, the Frontenac, where so many 
hops are held.” 

As the St. Lawrence glided over the 
waters Janet’s companion told many ^ 
amusing incidents, and pointed out dif- 
ferent places of note. Janet forgot he 
was a stranger. There was no trace of 
the genus dude, or lady-killer. If there 
had been Janet would have silenced 
him. 

“An over - worked, over - worried 
teacher on a vacation,” he shrewdly 
guessed; “she needs diversion.” 

“I spend many weeks here every sum- 
mer,” he said. “I think it is the most 
beautiful scenery on earth.” 

“I prefer it to the canons of Colorado, 
the Yosemite, ‘or even Europe.’ The 
scenery there is sublime, oppressive to 
me. Here all is life and motion. May 
I ask your destination?” 

“Point Vivian,” said Janet. 

“I hope we may meet again,” he said. 
“I would be pleased to do the honors of 
this lovely river.” 


8 


POINT VIVIAN. 


Janet smiled. “He shall not discuss 
me as a conquest with his friends/’ she 
thought. 

“I expect to meet a chum at the bay,” 
he said. “Came from Denver, so I have 
had quite a trip.’’ 

“She does not invite me to call,’’ he 
thought. “All the better. I admire 
dignity.’’ He studied the time table. 

“Father!’’ said a shrill voice, “it’s 
perfectly scandalous the way our girls 
talk with strangers. Them two has been 
a talkin’ like a house afire. I know 
they never met afore.’’ 

“Come, Mariar,’’ said father, a stout, 
genial old man. “They hain’t sed any- 
thin’ harmful, ’cause I’ve heerd every 
word.’’ 

Janet’s eyes twinkled. Brown eyes 
looked amused. “Let us talk lower, 
and not offend Mariar,’’ said he de- 
murely. 

Maria glared at them in silent wrath. 

She could not hear one word. She 
arose with wrathful dignity and stalked 
away. She was a thin, angular woman, 


POINT VIVIAN. 


9 


with prim, precise propriety written on 
her face. 

“Prunes and prisms, ” said Janet. 

“Sairy Gamp,” said he. 

“Point Vivian,” called the purser. 

“Shall I have the pleasure of seeing 
you again?” he said, rising. 

“Perhaps — I hardly think so,” said 
Janet calmly. 

“Will you stay at a hotel?” 

“No, with friends.” 

“Surely, you will have a permanent 
abode?” he said, chagrined at her indif- 
ference. 

“Yes. Thank you for your kindness. 
Good-by.” 

With a graceful bow, Janet withdrew. 

“Cool!” thought Will Lennox. “She 
will never run after a man or give him a 
chance to run after her. Not a pretty 
face, but an interesting one. Hope we 
will meet again. ‘Where there’s & Will, 
there is always a way.’ Great Scott! I 
do not even know her name, nor she 
mine.” 

“Janet, at last,” said Florence, a 
piquant brunette, greeting her warmly. 


10 


POINT VIVIAN. 


“So glad to see you,” said Ethel 
Schuyler. “Who was that tall, stylish 
gentleman that bowed to you?” 

“Some one I happened to meet,” said 
Janet carelessly. 

“You always have adventures,” said 
Ethel; “I might travel around the world 
and never have one.” 


POINT VIVIAN. 


11 


CHAPTER II. 

CLIFTON COTTAGE. 

“I came yesterday,” said Ethel; “had 
such a stupid time traveling alone.” 

“This is our cottage,” said Florence, 
as the short walk ended. 

Clifton Cottage was a pretty white 
house standing on elevated ground. Its 
lower veranda opened on a large flat 
bowlder. Tall, stately pine trees bor- 
dered a grassy path leading to the river. 

“Welcome, Janet,” said Mrs. Clifton, 
an energetic little lady, with keen, 
black eyes. “This is my daughter, Mrs. 
Bennett.” 

Mrs. Bennett, a slight, refined lady, 
greeted her warmly. “This is our par- 
lor, Janet.” She led the way to a cool, 
pleasant room. “You must be nearly 
starved, so we will go out to dinner.” 

They all sat down to a tempting dinner. 


12 


POINT VIVIAN. 


The walls were decorated with flags, 
green vines and quaint mottoes. “Eat, 
drink, and be merry,” in letters of green 
pine, hung over the table. Dainty bou- 
quets filled the air with fragrance. Nap- 
kin rings were of silver birch, with pretty 
monograms. 

“Who is the artist here?” asked Janet. 

“Florence,” said Mrs. Bennett. 

“She deserves a medal for interior 
decoration,” said Janet. 

“The cook also,” said Ethel; “the 
dinner is so delicious, especially this 
baked muscallonge.” 

“I shall never care for store fish again,” 
said Janet; “such a different flavor.” 

The girls did full justice to the deli- 
cious dinner. Mrs. Chadwick was a 
genius in the culinary line. Every dish 
was seasoned exactly right. 

Just opposite the table the window 
gave a charming picture of mossy dells 
and green arches, through which the 
sunlight fell in golden gleams. 

“Where is Mait?” asked Mrs. Bennett. 

“Here I be, ma.” A lively youth of 


POINT VIVIAN. 


13 


ten appeared, with a yellow spotted dog. 
“Down, Rover, old boy. Ma, I’m holler 
as a bass drum.” Halloo (to Janet and 
Ethel); “ma, Reggie and I are goin’ 
sailin’.” 

“You will be drowned,” said Mrs. 
Bennett. 

“Rats!” said Mait scornfully, eating 
hastily. 

“Reggie and I bin sailin’ all the morn- 
ing,” said Mait; “only upset three 
times.” 

Mrs. Bennett is mute with horror. 

“Reggie’s my chum. Lives over to 
Alleghany Point. He’s got a new sail 
boat. He’s a brick.” 

“’Scuse me, ma.” Mait is off like a 
rocket. 

Florence leads the way upstairs. Cool, 
neat rooms open on the veranda. Neat- 
ness and homelike comfort’ everywhere. 

Janet goes out on the balcony to see 
the view. Far as eye can reach are 
waters of sparkling, vivid green, with 
great crests of foam, which beat against 
the rocks like muffled thunder. Stately 


14 


POINT VIVIAN. 


steamers sail majestically along. Dainty 
sailboats rock up and down like birds 
poised for flight. 

“Beautiful! superb!” said Janet. 

“That lovely cottage opposite is Isle 
Royal,” said Florence. “The small isle 
in front is Lone Pine Island. That odd 
little cottage on the left is Mr. Gibbs’, a 
queer old bachelor.” 

“The house looks like a pepper cup,” 
said Janet. 

“Yes, and the owner is peppery, too. 
He hates dogs, cats, girls and boys, Mait 
and Reggie especially. Victory Lodge 
is on the right. Very nice people.” 

“There are no young men here yet to 
amuse you,” said Florence. 

“We shall be perfectly content with- 
out,” said Ethel. 

“Yes, indeed,” said Janet, “we can do 
as we like. Oh! rapture! no teaching 
for ten weeks.” She leans back in the 
easy-chair. Her tired eyes find pleasure 
in the rippling, green waters. 

“Girls! I was too previous,” exclaims 
Florence; “there are four young men 
putting up a tent back of the cottage.” 


POINT VIVIAN. 


15 


Securely bidden behind the blinds the 
girls watch them. Four athletic figures 
are seen making coffee, and various 
dishes in tin saucepans. 

The leader appears with a huge can of 
hot coffee at the tent opening. “Oh! 
K. D. (Cady) forever,” yells his com- 
rades, passing it around. 

The smaller satellites collect the 
dishes and the feast begins. Darkness 
hides them from view. Long after mid- 
night their mellow voices and the sweet 
strains of a violin are heard. 

Next morning the girls embark in the 
Chadwick, a dainty boat, with Florence 
as pilot. 

“Rodenhurst Cottage,” said Florence. 
It is gayly decorated with flags, and an 
ancient griffin stands on the platform. 

“Spuyten Duyvil” is a pretty isle, 
covered with exquisite moss, green, 
golden brown, and lovely shades inde- 
scribable. 

The girls gather quantities to fill the 
basket Florence has kindly provided. 

“Girls, here is Rose Terrace, Rock 


POINT VIVIAN. 


16 

Island,” said Florence. “We will land 
here if you wish.” 

They take possession at once. It is a 
lovely island, with fine, velvety grounds. 
In the midst is a stately mansion, with 
windows closely barred. A long avenue 
of fragrant cedars leads to a quaint sum- 
merhouse, shaped like a Chinese pagoda. 

“A lovely place, but lonely,” says 
Ethel. 

“Yes,” said Florence, “an interesting 
one, too. It once belonged to Mrs. Glen- 
demming, a lovely widow, who died very 
suddenly. Some people think it 
haunted, and it is seldom occupied. It 
is furnished beautifully. I believe it 
now belongs to Mr. Rose, of Cleveland, 
Ohio. The grounds are always kept in 
perfect order.” 

“I wish I owned it,” said Ethel; “I 
would entertain my friends here every 
summer. I like it better than any place 
I have seen.” 

“How pleasant to own a home in this 
American Eden,” exclaimed Janet. 

“How about Adam?” asked Ethel. 


POINT VIVIAN. 


17 


“I do not want an Adam.” 

“Janet! Janet!” said Florence, “you 
unsusceptible girl; I would like to see 
your ideal.” 

“He does not exist,” said Janet gayly. 

“You will surely meet him here,” said 
Florence. “The very air is full of 
romance — Cupid’s Camping Ground.” 

“You think so, Florence, because you 
are happily engaged,” laughs Janet. 

“Beware, Janet,” said Ethel solemnly. 
“Never challenge fate. Your hour 
approaches.” 

“I beg pardon, ladies,” said a pleasant, 
manly voice; “hope we don’t intrude.” 

The girls turn in confusion. There 
stand three gentlemen, stylish, hand- 
some, well bred. 


18 


POINT VIVIAN. 


CHAPTER III. 

THE STRANGE CAVALIER. 

Janet recognizes the voice, the brown 
eyes. It is her unknown cavalier of the 
train. “I think,” he says politely, “we 
have met before — Mr. Lennox.” 

“Yes.” Janet smiles at his ready tact. 
“I am Miss Douglas — my friends, Miss 
Clifton, Miss Schuyler.” 

Lennox bows gracefully. “My friends, 
Mr. Ashton, Mr. Le Vere.” 

Ashton is a blonde Englishman, with 
calm, imperturbable face; Le Vere, a 
brunette, with a graceful, athletic figure, 
brilliant dark eyes, patrician features. 

“This is a great pleasure,” said Len- 
nox, “to renew our acquaintance and 
meet your friends.” He speaks as if 
Janet had always known him. “We are 
staying at the Crossmon House,” said 
Lennox; “my uncle recently purchased 


POINT VIVIAN. 


19 


this house and I came ahead to look it 
over. Hope we did not disturb you.” 

“No,” said Florence; “I fear we are 
the intruders.” 

“No, indeed,” said Lennox. “I beg 
you will not hasten your departure.” 

“It is such a beautiful place,” said 
Ethel, “that we forgot it was private 
property.” 

“Yes, it is beautiful, but gloomy,” said 
Lennox. “I wonder how long the sun- 
shine has been kept outside? Here come 
the servants to air the house.” 

Mrs. Smith, a dignified, elderly woman, 
with two maids, entered the house. 

“It is dinner time, gentlemen, so we 
will bid you good-by,” said Florence. 

“Then let us escort you over the dan- 
gerous waste,” said Lennox laughing. 

“I am used to rowing,” said Florence. 
Lennox protested; so he and Janet, Ash- 
ton and Florence, Le Yere and Ethel 
were soon gliding over the river. 

“Cracky! Grandma ! here comes the 
girls with the awfullest, howling 
swells,” said Mait excitedly; “quick— 
you’ll be too late.” 


20 


POINT VIVIAN. 


Mrs. Clifton turned pale. “I knew 
it! I knew it!” she said. "They'll get 
in those great swells from the steamer 
and be drowned. Lou, run quick and 
get help.” 

“She rushed down the path, trembling 
with excitement, while Reggie and Mait, 
chuckling with sinful delight, climbed a 
tree. There they could see the fun. 

Mrs. Clifton stopped suddenly. 
There were the girls laughing gayly, 
just landing safe and sound. And the 
swells — three fine-looking gentlemen. 

" Mother! what is the matter?” said 
Florence in alarm. Mrs. Clifton sat 
down speechless. 

Mrs. Bennett came flying down, fol- 
lowed by three men, Van Emmons, Bill 
an old boatman, and Mr. Gibbs. Gibbs 
was attired in an old rose dressing gown, 
Van Emmons was minus his hat and 
coat, and Bill was dragging a coil of rope. 

“Keep up your sperits, ma’am,” said 
old Bill cheerfully; "they can’t be 
drownded.” 

He stopped and gazed at the gay party 


POINT VIVIAN. 


21 


open-mouthed. They were very much 
alive. 

“What does this mean?” said Ethel. 

“Are we going to be lynched,” asked 
Lennox calmly, “or is this a little im- 
promptu affair to ‘rope us in?’ ” 

“Will Lennox!” exclaimed Van Em- 
mons; “what on earth brought you 
here?” 

“This boat, my friend,” said Lennox, 
with a hand shake that made his friend 
wince. 

Then Van Emmons gave way to laugh- 
ter, which was so infectious that all 
joined. 

“We thought,” he choked, “that— 
those ladies— were being— drowned, and 
— we woke old Bill up — to save them — 
oh — I shall die”— and he grew purple. 

Down came Mat tumbling over Lennox. 

“Halloo! young man, are you trying to 
break my head or your own?” he asked, 
standing him on his feet rather forcibly. 


22 


POINT VIVIAN. 


CHAPTER IV. 

mait’s tribulations. 

“What are yon doing here, Mait?” 
said Florence severely. 

“Oh! I just brought grandma down to 
see the swells ,” he says calmly; “she 
thought you was being drownded. Oh! 
it’s too funny!” 

They all burst into mirth except 
Gibbs, who marches angrily away, his 
dressing gown trailing like a signal of 
distress. 

Old Bill drops the rope, and joins in 
with a loud guffaw which beats the river 
swells entirely. 

Mrs. Clifton and Lou have just 
recovered their usual manner. 

“We are roped in, with a vengeance,” 
said Lennox. 

Down comes Reggie with a thump. 

“Are there any more of you up 


POINT VIVIAN. 


23 


there?” said Lennox. “What a flighty 
set you are. Oh ! you precious pair of 
rascals! A double edition of Peck’s Bad 
Boy.” 

“That’s the rummiest go I everheerd 
on,” said old Bill, chuckling. 

“Mait, go directly home,” said Mrs. 
Chadwick severely ; “and, Reggie, you 
leave too.” 

A loud wail breaks from the afflicted 
pair at the idea of separation. But 
grandma is inexorable, and they see 
each other no more that day. 

“When we come here again, we will 
need life preservers,” said Le Vere 
gayly. “I have heard of its ‘raining cats 
and dogs,’ but never knew boys to fall 
from the skies before.” 

“This is a wonderful country,” said 
Ashton curtly; “never be surprised at 
anything.” 

“Cracky !” yelled Mait, “girls, if you 
want fun, come on. Them four campers 
are havin’ a wrestlin’ match.” 

The four campers were standing in the 
boats, dashing water over each other. 


u 


POINT VIVIAN. 


Rover made frantic dashes, tripping 
them up. K. D. had almost won the vic- 
tory when — — 

Rover with an unearthly howl gave a 
frantic leap. K. D. went overboard with 
a splash in his most dashing style. 

Mait chuckled with delight. “Con- 
found that cur!” said the German as he 
rescued his dripping chum ; “keep him 
out of my sight or you’ll see a pound 
party with a dog.” 

K. D. walked sadly away. 

The campers’ enthusiasm was damp- 
ened effectually. 

They folded their tent and musically 
rowed away with the sweet harmony of 
Johnnie Smoker, and touching cadences 
(Cady-ences) of “good-by, maidens, we 
hate to leave you now.” 


POINT VIVIAN. 


25 


CHAPTER V. 

A TRIP THROUGH FAIRYLAND. 

It was a lovely July day. The sky 
was like a transparent sapphire. 

The Island Wanderer was crowded 
with excursionists for the fifty mile trip- 

“This red cottage,” said Florence, 
“on the opposite side we call Owl’s Nest. 
There is an elderly chaperon and six- 
teen teachers, gentlemen and ladies.” 

“Shades of Minerva!” said Lennox, 
“what an abode of wisdom !” 

“They seem to enjoy themselves,” 
said Ethel, gazing at the cool, shady 
orchard; “there are twelve hammocks. 
Nearly one apiece. What luxury ! 

“Yes,” said Janet, “there are two 
gentlemen with violins, and two are 
reading poetry likely. Fractions and 
verbs are buried for the present.” 

“You speak sympathetically, Miss 


26 


POINT VIVIAN. 


Douglas,” said Ashton; “as if you had a 
fellow feeling.” 

“I have a woman’s sentiments,” she 
said gayly. “I am a teacher myself.” 

He regarded her critically. He had 
always thought a teacher was prim, pre- 
cise, angular. She was dignified, but 
enjoyed fun as well as any one. 

“You thought all teachers were Sairy 
Gamps, did you not?” she said laughing. 

He flushed slightly. What a trick 
these Americans possessed of reading 
one’s inmost thought! 

“Or Martiars /” said Lennox roguishly. 
“Ashton, you should have seen her.” 

“Who is Mariar?” said Ashton. 

“Ask Miss Douglas,” said Lennox 
gayly. 

“Come, Janet, tell us all about her,” 
said Ethel. 

Janet eyed Lennox indignantly. “Mr. 
Lennox can tell you,” she said calmly. 

“Great Scott! excuse me,” said he; 
“but there she is now.” 

All eyes gazed on a tall, severe, an- 
gular lady, who sat near them. 


POINT VIVIAN. 


27 


“Father!” she said frigidly to her meek 
parent, “let us promulgate away from 
this frivolous crowd.” 

She stalked away like an animated 
wooden image. 

“Oh!” they all exclaimed, “what 
dignity — what a crushing reproof.” 

Lennox and Janet would tell them 
nothing more. 

“This is Hill Crest,” said Florence, “a 
quaint cottage on a rock riveted by iron 
bands.” 

“Nice place in a thunderstorm,” said 
Ashton; “the lightning must play lively 
around there.” 

“I never heard of any one getting 
struck there, or here either,” said Flor- 
ence dryly. She disliked this cool, con- 
ceited Englishman. 

All were now absorbed in the lovely 
scenery. 

Numerous islands were scattered all 
around. Some were rich with verdure, 
others with massive gray bowlders, like 
ruined castles. Tall, stately pines stood 
like sentinels. Dainty cottages, stately 


28 


POINT VIVIAN. 


mansions, immense hotels were scat- 
tered around. 

“Darling’s Dock,’' said the purser. 

“Only a white cottage,” said Ashton. 

“The Darlings lived there once,” said 
Mrs. Chadwick. 

“Were they a remarkable family?” 
asked Ashton. 

“No,” said Florence. 

“There are Darlings in other parts of 
the world,” said Le Yere. 

“Yes,” said Lennox, “there are some 
on this boat.” 

They all laughed as Will gazed at 
Ethel. 

“What a trick Americans have of jest- 
ing,” said Ashton. 

“Yes,” said Florence pensively; “so 
strange that your countrymen come here 
to stay.” 

Ashton feels this Parthian thrust. 

Echo Rock gives back the steamer’s 
salute. 

“Why is this called Lost Channel?” 
ask Ethel. 

“Because it is deep,” said Lennox, 


POINT VIVIAN. 


29 


“and the real meaning was lost, long ago, 
in the channel.” 

Berne Light House rose like a tall 
monument from the waste of waters. 

“How lonely! how dangerous!” said 
Ethel. 

“Who is the keeper?” asked Le Yere. 

“A Yankee sailor.” 

“I should think he would become 
light-headed,” said Ashton. 

“Oh! no,” said Janet calmly; “Amer- 
icans are used to dwelling on the heights. 
They do not mind climbing.” 

“I should think not,” said Le Yere 
gayly. “Far up on the rocky canons of 
California and Colorado, thousands of 
feet from a resting place, the ambitious 
American has climbed, periling life and 
limb.” 

“For what?” asked Will. “To leave a 
legend for future generations — a glorious 
legacy.” 

“What is it?” asked Ethel. 

“Try St. Jacob’s Oil — Carter’s Little 
Liver Pills— Perkin’s Painless Paint.” 

“That is bad of you,” said Janet, and 


30 


POINT VIVIAN. 


loses her gravity entirely. So do all the 
rest. 

“We are now crossing the line,” said 
the purser. 

“What line?” asked a keen eyed Yan- 
kee, peering over the railing; “I don’t 
see any.” 

“Ladies and gentlemen,” said the pur- 
ser blandly, “we are now crossing the 
line which divides the United States 
from Canada.” 

“Oh, rats!” exclaimed the Yankee in 
disgust. “I thought it were a fish line 
to ketch them forty-pound, Must-kum- 
along I heerd tell on.” He put his feet 
down emphatically, nearly crushing the 
understanding of a pompous Briton. 

“You lumbering idiot,” he said wrath- 
fully, “don’t you know any better than 
to come down like that? Corns too! 
Oh!” 

“I hain’t in the lumbering business,” 
said the startled Yankee, “and I don’t 
own any ox. How did I knaow yeou hed 
korns?” And he placidly gazed at the 
river, while the fat Englishman limped 
painfully, (s)cornfully away. 


POINT VIVIAN. 


31 


There were few cottages on the Cana- 
dian islands. Gananoqne was a queer, 
foreign-looking city. The people are 
kind and hospitable to the States folks, 
but retain the primitive customs of cen- 
turies ago. 

The graceful Island Wanderer changed 
her course, and Alexandria Bay was 
reached. 

Lennox escorted the party to the 
Crossman House. 

“My mother,” he said, presenting a 
tall, stately lady with gray hair. 

“Very glad to met you all,” said Mrs. 
Lennox. 

They all entered the spacious dining 
room. Here a tempting repast was 
served. Crisp muscallonge, chickens, 
fresh vegetables, delicious puddings, 
fruits, ices and fragrant coifee. 

“They are a very nice party,” thought 
Mrs. Lennox. “The Schuylers are an 
aristocratic family from Albany, and 
Miss Ethel gives evidence of it.” 

“You see,” said Lennox, “these two 
hotels, the Crossman and Thousand Is- 


32 


POINT VIVIAN. 


lands House, are built on solid rock. 
They are very gay, with their hops 
and balls in the season. The flower beds 
are made on the solid rock.” 

They visited the Indian tents, where 
the “noble red men” were making bas- 
kets and tiny canoes of birch bark, 
wound with sweet grass. 

The Turkish bazaar contained curious 
vases, china and carved ivory paper- 
knives. 

At the studio they examined lovely 
views, and then hearing the whistle, 
hastened on board the St. Lawrence. 


I 


POINT VIVIAN. 


33 


CHAPTER VI. 

AN EARLY SURPRISE. 

“Hoop La! Tar-rar! Whoop!” in 
long thrilling, ear-splitting tones, which 
seemed to rend the air asunder. 

“What is that!” said Janet in alarm, 
waking in the early dawn. 

“Indians!” exclaimed Ethel. “Do you 
suppose those basket makers have be- 
come drunk and gone on the warpath?” 

Both girls peered cautiously out of the 
window. 

Mr. Gibbs was dancing a kind of 
American fandango on the bowlder in 
front of his! cottage. 

He was playing a tattoo on his chest 
with both hand, and uttering the most 
frenzied yells. 

Suddenly he started on a run to the 
dock. His heels seemed to be playing 


34 


POINT VIVIAN. 


chase with the tails of his old rose dress- 
ing gown, which floated on the breeze 
like a balloon. His jaunty blue cap 
hung over one ear in a most dejected 
fashion. 

“Girls, don’t be alarmed,” said Flor- 
ence sleepily; “Mr. Gibbs is only taking 
his usual morning exercise — inflating his 
lungs. He thinks he has weak lungs. 
Any one who hears him yell would 
doubt it.” 

“Oh! what a yell! He may strengthen 
his lungs, but he certainly weakens my 
hearing,” said Ethel, covering her ears. 

The unearthly yells grew fainter. 

“He has inflated them so,” said Flor- 
ence, “I guess he has ended in spontane- 
ous combustion.” 

The girls settled down once more to 
repose. 


POINT VIVIAN. 


35 


CHAPTER VII. 
ethel’s fishing. 

“Lake of the Isles,” said Ethel as 
they landed; “what a lovely place!” 

It was a sheet of beautiful transparent 
water, almost enclosed by lovely green 
isles. Shady fragrant groves made it a 
perfect picnic ground. 

“Yes, indeed, it is,” said Lennox, 
“and you, Miss Schuyler, look like the 
‘Lady of the Lake.’ ” 

Ethel looks very pretty, in her white 
dress and rose colored ribbons. Her 
eyes are sparkling, her cheeks tinged 
with a rosy flush. She is so bright, 
womanly, winsome, Lennox thinks, 
using his favorite Scotch adjective. 
What a lovable wife she would make. 
What a gracious mistress for his beauti- 
ful home. She seems indifferent, 


36 


POINT VIVIAN. 


though for five weeks he has devoted 
himself to her pleasure as he never had 
before for any lady. 

“This is where they catch such fine 
pickerel,” he said. 

“I wish I could,” said Ethel; “I like 
to fish.” 

■“I thought so,” he said comically; 
“here is my line at your disposal. I 
don’t believe you need any lessons.” 

“Why?” 

“Because you understand just what to 
do.” 

“But I never caught any pickerel.” 

“No,” he said demurely, “but another 
kind. Miss Schuyler, you are the most 
charming, original girl I have ever met.” 

“Mr. Lennox,” said Ethel with dignity, 
“I am not fishing for compliments. l)o 
you think,” scornfully, “that I have no 
common sense— to believe such flattery? 
That was a pretty speech, but I wonder 
how many editions it has gone through.” 

Lennox flushes slightly. “Indeed, 
Miss Schuyler,” he said earnestly, “it is 
not flattery. I mean it-” 


POINT VIVIAN. 


37 


His brown eyes affirm his sincerity, 
and another sentiment too. 

Ethel changes the topic. 

“Did you ever go camping?” she 
asked. “What is your favorite pastime?” 

“Deer hunting,” he said enthusiasti- 
cally. 

Ethel laughs. She cannot help it after 
his remarks at her expense. 

“I thought so,” she said demurely. 
“Have you been quite successful?” 

“Yes, at Star Lake — here , I am doubt- 
ful? Nearly every autumn a party of us 
go camping there. You should see it — 
a lake like a star, with an emerald 
setting of magnificent fragrant pines. 
As the deer come bounding down the 
forest with their graceful heads erect, 
iike kings of the wilderness, they are a 
fine sight.” 

“What a pity to kill them,” said Ethel. 

“I have shot seven deer myself,” he 
said modestly; “their antlers are at 
home in Boston. Miss Schuyler, I 
would like to teach you to shoot. You 
have a steady hand and nerve.” 


38 


POINT VIVIAN. 


Ethel shook her hand. “1 am afraid 
of guns,” she said. “By the time the 
gun was loaded, ready to go off, I would 
be ready to go too in another direction.” 

“Too bad,” said Lennox resignedly; 
“but then you do not need to go dear- 
hunting. They always come to you.” 

“Mr. Lennox,” said Ethel, with 
dignity, “I never go hunting or fishing 
for dears of any kind.” 

“Miss Schuyler— Ethel, I beg your 
pardon— you are very ” 

Ethel looks amazed. He has never 
called her “Ethel” before. By right of 
first discovery, by romantic meeting on 
the St. Lawrence, he belongs to Janet. 

“Ethel!” he said gently, bending to- 
ward her, “you are the dearest ” 

“Hope I don’t intrude,” said a tall, 
stylish brunette; “we thought you had 
fallen asleep in ‘Love’s Young Dream,’ 
and Mrs. Lennox sent me to wake you 
up.” 

“Thanks,” said Will dryly; “we are 
wide awake.” 

“Will, give a hand with this clam 


POINT VIVIAN. 


39 


chowder, will you, ” called Van Emmons 
at this moment. 

“All right. Excuse me,” and off he 
went. 

“Just in time,” thinks the diplomatic 
Mary; “how nicely I planned that inter- 
ruption.” 

“Ethel, my dear,” she said sweetly, 
“how nice Will is, but he is an awful 
flirt. The girls are just crazy for him in 
Boston, and he can be devoted to a 
dozen. He says he likes the Point Viv- 
ian girls, because they are such an inno- 
cent, unsophisticated lot. I thought I 
would warn you in time.” 

Ethel’s eyes flashed. “Don’t worry 
about me,” she said; “I am not the sus- 
ceptible kind.” 

Is Lennox amusing himself with her? 
If so he will find she is not so very un- 
sophisticated, if she was not born in the 
city of “cul-chaw.” 

.She partakes of the delicious clan 
bake with a sore heart. 


4o 


POINT VIVIAN. 


CHAPTER YIII. 

PANDORA APPEARS. 

The seniors are chatting pleasantly in 
a shady nook. 

Florence and John Morton, (her fiance) 
are fishing. Mary Baron is flirting gayly 
with Le Vere. Janet, in a hammock, is 
gazing dreamily on the shining river, 
with the white boats gliding by. How 
appropriate, what Ashton is now reading 
— Longfellow’s “Golden Legend.’’ 

“Silent, majestical, and slow, 

The white ships haunt it, to and fro, 

With all their ghostly sails unfurled, 

As phantoms, from another world ; 

Haunt the dim confines of existence. 

But ah! how few can comprehend 
Their signals, 

“Or to what good end, 

From land to land they come and go; 

Upon a sea, more vast and dark, 

The spirits of the dead, embark, 


point vivian. 


41 


Ail voyaging, to unknown coasts. 

We have our farwells, from the shore, 
And they depart, and come no more, 
Or come as phantoms and as ghosts.” 


The musical voice goes on, the ripples 
unceasingly repeat themselves. Janet 
is content, happy. The lines of care 
have vanished from her brow. 

This is indeed a beautiful spot and a 
summer never forgotten by either. 

“A beautiful story, exquisitely told,” 
she said as he finished. 

“Yes,” he said, “it deserves to be 
written in letters of gold. Elsie was a 
noble heroine, willing to sacrifice her 
lovely, innocent life that the prince 
might be made immortal.” 

“Yes, her courage did not even falter,” 
said Janet, “when warned of the terrible 
ordeal awaiting her. But there was 
some good in the prince, after all, when 
he tried to prevent the sacrifice at the 
last.” 

“Yes, but he was unworthy of her. 
Miss Douglas, you would make just such 


42 


POINT VIVIAN. 


a heroine. Your daily life,” he said 
quietly, “is noble, unselfish. You are 
always cheerful, you never complain.” 

“How could I complain in such a 
paradise as Point Vivian?” she said, 
laughing. “You should see me in the 
schoolroom; how cross I can be.” 

“Miss Douglas!— Janet, why should 
you wear out your life in such dreary 
work?” he said earnestly, “you are fit- 
tedfor something better. Janet, you are 
the one woman in the world ” 

“Janet!” said Miss Baron airily, “don’t 
let me disturb you but they are all ready 
to go home.” 

Ashton’s imperturbable face turns 
white. What a vexatious interruption ! 

“Janet shall not win that dignified 
Englishman if I can prevent it,” Mary 
muses to herself. 

They sail homeward in the moonlight 
to the music of Le Vere’s violin. 

Mary is very loving to Ethel, talks in- 
cessantly. 

Will mentally consigns her to remote 
tropical regions. 

Ashton studies her coolly. 


POINT VIVIAN. 


43 


CHAPTER IX. 

A MIDNIGHT ALARM. 

‘ ‘ Bump- Tumpity- Bump. ’ ’ 

Ethel awakes suddenly. 

Has the roof fallen in? 

Stealthy footsteps are heard, followed 
by the scratching of matches. “Bur- 
glars!” Ethel shivers with fright. There 
is a crash — the breaking of glass. 

“They are coming through the window 
by the way of glass-go,” (Glasgow) she 
thinks with grim humor; “what a pain- 
ful (paneful) manner.” 

“Oh!” exclaims Janet, in horrified ac- 
cents, “what shall we do?” 

“Girls,” said Florence sleepily, “don’t 
be scared; it is only Mait. He has 
fallen out of bed.” 

“Oh!” they breathe freely once more. 

“Mait cruises around all day in 


44 


POINT VIVIAN. 


Reggie’s sailboat till he is so tired he 
sails all night with the nightmare,” 
Florence said. 

Mrs. Bennett enters, robed in white. 
“Do you know where the arnica is? 
Mait has an awful bruise on his face.” 

“ ‘Woman in white,’ midnight edition,” 
whispers Ethel, laughing. 

“Yes,” said Florence coolly; “it is 
down at the dock house, where Mait had 
it for Rover’s sore paw.” 

“Well!” said Mrs. Bennett resignedly, 
“I don’t intend to walk half a mile after 
that arnica this time of night.” 

“The woman in white” vanishes in 
search of the camphor, with which she 
binds up the wounds of her sailor boy. 

Next morning Mait appears with an 
eye in deep mourning, and a huge, sky- 
blue bump on his noble brow. 

“Cracky,” said Reggie admiringly, 
“you look like Sullivan after Corbett 
licked him.” 

“I drempt I was sailin’,” said Mait, 
‘’n,’ I landed ’fore I got reddy.” 


POINT VIVIAN 


45 


CHAPTER X. 

ROSE TEERACE. 

Rose Teeeace is an enchanting spot as 
the afternoon sunshine falls on it. The 
lawns are like smooth green velvet, over 
which the fountains send refreshing 
showers. 

Cedar Avenue, with its overarching 
trees and rustic seats, forms cosy nooks 
for Mrs. Lennox’s guests. 

There are twenty-five in all, pretty 
girls, in dainty summer dresses, courtly 
gentlemen and stately parents. The 
wide verandas are gay with awnings. A 
hidden orchestra fills the air with music. 
Beautiful flowers, lilies, violets, roses 
mingle their sweet perfume with the 
cedar and pine. Delicious refreshments, 
such as the appetizing river air demands, 
are served. It is not a fashionable five 
o’clock tea which 0. W. Holmes has de- 


46 


POINT VIVIAN. 


scribed as “gobble, gabble and git,” 
where ethereal refreshments, light and 
as satisfying as thistle down, are served, 
with homeopathic cups of coffee. There 
are delicious rolls, cold meats, salads, 
cakes, juicy fruits, refreshing ices. 

“Miss Schuyler, have you seen the 
rose garden?” asked Lennox. 

“No.” 

“Then we will go now, if you like.” 

He opens a gate into a garden enclosed 
by shrubbery. 

“This is my mother’s hobby,” he said; 
“it runs in the family. Mrs. Glendem- 
ming was very fond of roses.” 

“A paradise of roses,” exclaimed 
Ethel in delight. “Oh ! how lovely, how 
exquisite.” 

Great clusters of lovely blush roses, - 
pure white, sunset brier, the delicate 
moss, rich yellow, and deepest crimson 
mingle their beautiful tints together and 
fill the air with spicy odors. 

They walk slowly down the fragrant 
alleys to the summerhouse, embowered 
in green vines. 


POINT VIVIAN. 


47 


Ethel’s sweet, womanly face and dainty 
white dress form a most attractive pic- 
ture in the rose garden. 

Will is nervous, constrained. “I will 
know my fate to-day,” he thinks. “No 
one shall interfere.” 

“Who was Mrs. Glendemming?” asked 
Ethel. 

“My great aunt,” he answered, “the 
original owner of Rose Terrace. Gabrielle 
was a very beautiful lady, and a great 
belle in society. She idolized her hus- 
band. They gave very fine entertain- 
ments here and in their home at Wash- 
ington. Her husband was killed in an 
accident and she was completely heart- 
broken. For five years she devoted her- 
self to charity. Her only pleasures were 
her rose garden and music.” 

“Poor Gabrielle,” said Ethel softly; 
“all her w r ealth could not comfort her.” 

“No,” he said gravely. “Miss Schuy- 
ler, I never see you alone any more. You 
seem to avoid me.” 

“Why should I?” she said carelessly. 

“She cares nothing for me,” he thought 
bitterly; “still I will know,” 


48 


POINT VIVIAN. 


“I have an important question to ask 
you,” he said. 

“The Lover’s Eetreat — ah!” ex- 
claimed Miss Baron. 

“Confound it,” mutters Lennox. 

“Did you speak?” she said innocently. 
She understood the expletive. But she 
had come to stay. 

Le Yere appears. 

“She shall not spoil their fun,” he 
thinks with a look at Lennox’s per- 
turbed face. 

“Miss Baron,” he said courteously, 
“will you take a stroll with me down the 
avenue?” 

“Thanks,” she said languidly, “but it 
is too hot. I prefer staying here.” 

She fans gracefully, chatting serenely. 

“Then with your permission, I will 
join you. By the way, Will, your 
mother wishes to see you and Miss 
Schuyler at the house.” 

His imaginary summons sends Will 
and Ethel off rejoicing. 

Mary bites her lips, her eyes flash 
savagely. “I will pay you for this, 
Adrian Le Vere,” she thinks, 


POINT VIVIAN. 


49 


“Oh! how I would like to see the 
whole house,” said Florence to Janet; 
“it had such a mysterious air about it 
all these years it was closed.” 

“That wish shall be granted, Flor- 
ence,” said Mrs. Lennox graciously. 

She had just happened to pass by. 

“1 beg pardon,” said Florence, blush- 
ing; “you will think me curious.” 

“Not at all,” said Mrs. Lennox. “I 
like to please my guests. Will, please 
take these ladies through the house?” 

“With pleasure,” said Will politely. 

He pilots them through long suites of 
rooms, with shining, polished floors, rich 
rugs, lovely pictures and statuary. 

In the parlor is a grand organ, richly 
carved. 

“This was Aunt Gabrielle’s,” he said; 
“she was a fine musician. She gave it 
to my mother, with all the furniture of 
her rooms. They have not been used in 
years till now. We reserve her boudoir 
just as it was.” 

He opened a door at the end of a long 
corridor. 


50 


POINT VIVIAN. 


“We do not show it to many, but you 
are friends.” 

It was a large, octagonal room, with a 
magnificent rose window of stained glass, 
painted by a master hand. The walls 
were hung with rich, rose colored bro- 
cade. A rich velvet carpet, luxurious 
easy chairs, carved tables, rare paint- 
ings, bric-a-brac, etc., made a most ex- 
quisite bower, fit for a queen. Silver 
lamps of antique design hung from the 
ceiling. 

A Madonna, by Titian, gazed down 
upon the group, with a face of divine 
purity and beauty. 

“How lovely! how perfect !” they all 
exclaim. “It is like a fairy bower.” 

“And this queer cabinet?” said Ethel. 

It is a richly carved one of sandalwood. 

“The top forms a perfect rose,” said 
Lennox; “but the key has been lost for 
many years. Whoever finds it will pos- 
sess it, also marry a Lennox, if” — laugh- 
ing — “they can manage to overlook his 
defects.” 

“Mary Baron ought to find it,” said 
Janet; “she has perseverance.” 


POINT VIVIAN. 


51 


Will shrugs his shoulders. “Yes, if 
she seeks for it as she does for ad- 
mirers.” 

“Florence,” said Janet, “let us go in 
the rose garden. It is lovely there.” 

Lennox smiles as he opens the private 
door leading to the rose garden. 

“Ethel,” he said earnestly, “I wish 
you might find the key.” 


52 


POINT VIVIAN. 


CHAPTER XI. 

THE MAGIC KEY. 

“Do you think you could take me for 
better or worse? I have loved you since 
I first saw you.” 

Ethel’s heart beats with suffocating 
gasps. 

His brown eyes are gazing into hers 
with love unutterable. 

“Mr. Lennox,” she said coldly, “I 
wonder how many times you have ut- 
teredthose words?” 

“Ethel ! what do you mean?” he asked. 

“I am not quite so unsophisticated, 
Mr. Lennox, as you think all the Point 
Vivian girls are; and as you said.” 

“Ethel!” indignantly, “I never said 
so. The Point Vivian girls are as intel- 
ligent and cultured as any I have ever 
seen. That is why you were so cool. 
Ethel, who uttered such a falsehood?” 


POINT VIVIAN. 


53 


“I would rather not tell.” 

“I know— that Baron girl. She has 
made mischief ever since she came. I 
wish she was in — Guinea. Ethel, you 
need a guardian to protect you. Will 
you accept me?” 

“But your mother?” 

“She will be pleased.” 

“But the lost key.” 

“Cupid laughs at locksmiths.” 

“Mr. Lennox, you would make a good 
lawyer.” 

“Very well— this, my maiden plea, is 
finished. What has the Court-ed to say 
for herself?” 

He waits anxiously her answer. 

“Yes,” she said shyly. “Mr. Lennox, 
how absurd you are!” laughing softly. 

“Very well,” he said with mock dig- 
nity, “I fine you for contempt of court- 
ing and shall collect the costs at once.” 

He kisses her reverently. 

Gabrielle’s sad, beautiful face, Lionel’s 
dark, tragic eyes gaze upon them. The 
Bose Window gleams like countless rich 
jewels in the rays of the setting sun. It 


54 


POINT VIVIAN. 


is reflected in a golden halo above the 
Madonna and falls like a glorious bene- 
diction on their radiant faces. 

They pass down the long avenue. 
Nearly all the guests have gone. 

“Mother,” said Will, “court has ad- 
journed. I have brought you a new 
daughter.” 

“Ethel, my dear child,” said Mrs. 
Lennox affectionately, “I am so glad.” 

Her formal reserve is all gone. She is 
well pleased. Ethel’s bright intellect, 
her well-bred manners, and above all, 
the absence of all exertion to win her 
son’s attentions just suit her fastidious 
taste. 

Ethel’s awe of her disappears. Flor- 
ence, Janet and Mrs. Chadwick warmly 
congratulate them; their escorts like- 
wise. 

“So romantic,” observes Mary, “that 
dear Ethel never knew Will Lennox was 
the only child of a millionaire and ex- 
senator till after she was engaged.” 

Mrs. Chadwick smiles serenely. She 
knew it, but had not told Ethel. 


POINT VIVIAN 


55 


CHAPTER XII. 

janet’s secret. 

Moonlight covers Rose Terrace with 
silvery splendor. A few guests still re- 
main in the parlor. A pretty Scotch 
lady is singing “Robin Adair” with 
pathetic sweetness. Janet listens with 
a heart filled with restless pain. 

“You are tired,” said Ashton kindly, 
bending over her. 

“Yes, a little,” trying to smile. 

“Oh! Mr. Ashton, come out on the 
veranda,” said Mary, “and see the 
lovely view.” 

He hesitates. “I will excuse you,” 
said Janet. 

Mary leads him off in triumph. 

“Cheek!” exclaims Will, sotto voce . 
“If she does not capture him it will not 
be for lack of trying.” 

“Janet,” said Florence indignantly, 


56 


POINT VIVIAN. 


“why did you let her carry him off like 
that?” 

“Why should I care?” 

“She is trying to cut you out.” 

“Let her try. I shall not try to retain 
any gentleman’s attention by my own 
special exertion.” 

* 4 What’s this dull town to me, 

Robin’s not here.” 

“Oh! Robert, my darling, my best be- 
loved,” her heart cries, “why were you 
taken away? So noble, so good, so true. 
How can I live without you?” 

The familiar song has awakened the 
sorrow, unutterable. 

It is the “Open Sesame” to the dreary 
sepulchre in which lie buried love, hope, 
ambition. The skeleton of grief is at the 
feast. She beholds him again — the tall, 
manly form, the noble brow, the clear 
dark blue eyes, the wavy brown hair. 

Once more the awful agony of renun- 
ciation, the noble heart stilled forever, 
with the white violets on his breast. 

Three years— and she cannot forget. 


POINT VIVIAN. 


57 


Loneliness, desolation sweep over her 
like a flood. Her only brother, all the 
kindred she possessed, gone forever, 
“Why do I try to live, to be cheerful?” 

The gay voices jar on her to-night. 
She has tried to bear her burden alone all 
these years. She is tired, weary of life. 
Suitors she has had, plenty of them, but 
they do not touch her heart. 

“Miss Douglas, we are too gay for 
you,” said Le Vere sympathetically; 
‘what can I do for you?” 

“Nothing, thank you,” she said, with 
a sad smile. 

“You are lonely, sad,” he said kindly. 
*‘Ah! I know what that means. My 
parents died when I was very young. 
In all the world I have no kindred, not a 
relation to care whether I live or die.” 

His dark eyes are full of sadness. 

“He is always so gay and bright,” 
Janet thinks, “but he too has known 
grief.” 

“That is very sad,” she said softly. 
“I too am alone in the world.” 

“You are fond of music?” he asks. 


58 


POINT VIVIAN. 


“Ilove it.” 

“You play?” 

“Not at all. I do not understand a 
note. I wish I did.” 

“You have a musician’s soul,” he said 
eagerly; “you feel the spirit of it all. 
I will try to make you forget.” 

The grand instrument responds to the 
master’s touch, and fills the room with 
enchanting music. 

Schubert’s dreamy serenade, Mendels- 
sohn’s, Beethoven’s, Mozart’s exquisite 
melodies fill Janet’s soul with ecstasy. 
Grief— despair — are lulled to rest, as if 
by the touch of magicians. 

“How pale she is,” thinks Le Vere; 
“how tired the dark eyes. How she 
has suffered; and yet she was always 
cheerful until to-night.” 

He longs to fold her in his strong 
arms, to bid the sad, weary heart grieve 
no more. But Ashton! No, he will not 
try to win happiness at the price of 
honor. He is doomed to live solitary. 
What does he care for fame, honor, 
riches, without her? 


POINT VIVIAN. 


59 


“It was grand, glorious,” said Janet, 
her eyes sparkling. “Many thanks. 
You made me forget.” 

“Then I am repaid a thousand times,” 
he said. 

Her praise is sweeter to him than that 
of the guests on the veranda, who crowd 
round him with applause. 

He bows graciously and then disap- 
pears. 

“Yes,” said Lennox, “he is a genius, 
a wonderful musician. He has played 
before the finest, most critical audiences 
at private houses in Paris, Berlin, Vienna. 
Nothing will induce him to go on the 
stage; though they have advised him to 
do so, and he has always received a reg- 
ular ovation. He is a fine artist, has 
won several gold medals. His picture, 
‘Meditation/ won a high place in the 
Paris salon.” 

“Is he a Frenchman?” asked John 
Morton. 

**His father was a celebrated French 
artist; his mother a De Garzo, of 
Spain, an ancient, noble family. She 


60 


POINT VIVIAN. 


was very beautiful, and a fine musician. 
Both families were noted for genius, 
artists and musicians especially, and for 
great wealth.” 


POINT VIVIAN. 


61 


CHAPTER XIII. 

A MIDNIGHT TRAGEDY. 

“Me-ow-Mariar- yow-yow !” 

“What is it?” said Ethel, as unearthly 
howls rose on the midnight air. 

“Catilini’s orchestra,” said Florence 
calmly, “under Signor Tomas.” 

“Isn’t that dreadful?” said Janet, as a 
thrilling crescendo arose. “It sounds 
like ‘Down on the Suwanee River.’ ” 

“I wish they were there. There !” said 
Mrs. Chadwick triumphantly, “that’s 
Major Hopkin’s big black Thomas. He’s 
the leader always, and the worst thief. 
He ate all the custard out of those pies 
yesterday. He ought to be killed.” 

Out flew a pair of old shoes at the 
sinner. 

But Thomas only winked mildly and 
went on with the unearthly yowls. 


62 


POINT VIVIAN. 


Two other cats assisted him ably. 

“I believe nothing will kill that tor- 
ment,” said Mrs. Chadwick in despair. 

They evidently regarded all missiles as 
striking applause. Three pails of water 
were emptied on them without quench- 
ing or dampening their enthusiasm . The 
howls rose louder and louder, and woke 
all the echoes of Point Vivian. 

“Let me try my sling shot,” said Mait; 
“that will settle them.” 

Crash! it went through Mr. Gibbs 1 
window. 

“What the deuce is that?” he roared, 
jumping up; “what blamed idiot is firing 
pistols at this time of night?” 

Nothing was heard but the doleful 
wail of the felines. 

“Great Scott! What an infernal 
racket!” He hastily donned his old rose 
dressing gown. “That villain of a 
Thomas, too. Ah!” 

1 Old boots, new boots, books, every 
available article went flying through the 
air. Still they sung calmly on. All his 
artillery was exhausted^except an iron 
bootjack. 


4 - 


POINT VIVIAN. 63 

Just as he seized it Signor Tomas 
raised his voice in a thrilling, blood- 
curdling yell. The bootjack fell with 
deadly aim. 

“There!” said Mr. Gibbs, chuckling. 
“That must have been his ninth life. 
That pesky varmint has tormented the 
Point Vivian folks for years. Great 
Scott! won’t the Major tear round and 
rave.” 

He crept cautiously to the river’s 
bank. “’Tis the last of old Thomas left 
blooming alone. All his scared compan- 
ions are scattered and gone,” he ex- 
claimed. “Let the St. Lawrence bury 
its dead.” He threw it energetically 
into the river. 

He threw up his arms and executed 
an Indian war dance of triumph. 

“I shall die of mirth if he keeps it up 
much longer,” said Ethel; “his dressing 
gown looks like a banner of victory wav- 
ing in the breeze.” 

“He looks like a jumping-jack,” 
groaned Mait* “oh, if Eeggie was only 
here.” 


64 


POINT VIVIAN. 


“Iam glad he is settled,’* said Mrs. 
Chadwick contentedly. 

“Too much water on the brain for 
Thomas,” said Florence. 

Mr. Gibbs, entirely unconscious of 
spectators, now retired with a sense of 
duty done. 

Major Hopkins vainly searched for 
his beloved Thomas. Of all his sym- 
pathizing( !) searchers Mait was the most 
active. His innocent face never betrayed 
his knowledge, not even when he sweetly 
sang: “He’ll never come back any 
more.” 

All the dwellers on Point Vivian heart- 
ily though secretly rejoiced and the 
waters of the beautiful St. Lawrence 
kept the secret. 


POINT VIVIAN. 


<55 


CHAPTER XIV. 

A TRIP THROUGH PARADISE. 

It is Saturday night, August 8th, and 
the river is grandly illuminated by fire- 
works and lanterns. 

The St. Lawrence is crowded by hun- 
dreds of excursionists for the wonderful 
flashlight excursion. 

The flashlight darts hither and thither 
like a glittering will-o’-the-wisp, chang- 
ing the foliage into a richer green, the 
river into a transparent emerald. 

It lights up Bonnie Castle, the tall, 
stately towers of Castle Rest (Pullman’s), 
White Castle (Browning), with silvery, 
moonlight radiance. They are like 
fairy castles, rising from an enchanted 
river. 

The immense hotels, the Crossman, 
Thousand Island and the Fronteiiac 
(Round Isle), are decorated with festoons 


66 


POINT VIVIAN. 


of colored lanterns in quaint designs, 
sparkling and scintillating like rare 
jewels. 

The Lotus Club burns red fire, which 
casts a vivid light on its manly occupants. 
Camp Phun and grim Hiawatha Castle 
send forth gay rockets. 

The handsome, massive Warner cot- 
tage and cottages innumerable send forth 
salutes. Beautiful yachts glide about 
in the brilliant light like dainty birds. 

The air is filled with sweetest music. 
It is like a vision from “Arabian Nights” 
or a picture from fairyland. 

“That is Devil’s Oven,” said Lennox, 
pointing to a small island with an under- 
ground cave. “A man once took refuge 
there daring the Revolutionary War, and 
his daughter took him provisions in a 
boat. Only a small rowboat can enter.” 

“What a lovely place,” said Janet, 
“this large island. The grounds are 
smooth as velvet with flowers and shrub- 
bery. The house is embowered in wood- 
bine.” 

“That is Alleghany Point,” said Flor- 


POINT VIVIAN. 


67 


ence, “where Reggie Laney lives, Mait’s 
chum.” 

“An Englishman?” asks Ashton. 
“Yes, I thought they looked trim and 
neat like English grounds.” 

“Oh! you conceited specimen,” 
thought Florence. “How I dislike him. 
There is such an air of reserved mystery 
about him.” 

“This is magnificent, bewitching, is it 
not?” said Janet. 

“Quite pretty,” said Ashton coolly; 
“but it lacks our picturesque old castles 
to be perfect.” 

Janet looks up indignantly. “The 
way your countrymen patronize our 
scenery is absurd, ”she said severely. “I 
fancy our modern cottages are more 
comfortable than your ancient, stately 
castles.” 

Ashton laughs softly. “No one would 
question your patriotism,” he said. 
“America is a beautiful country.” 

“Indeed it is,” said Janet; “give us 
time and we will have our stately castles, 
too.” 


68' 


POINT VIVIAN. 


“St. Lawrence, •with its thousand is- 
lands, well deserves the title of the 
‘American Venice,* ” said Ashton; “it 
is the loveliest spot on this continent.’* 

“You have traveled a great deal?” 
asked Janet. 

“A little; three years in America, 
three at home.” 

“Please tell me about it.” 

“Le Vere and I first took a yachting 
tour on the Mediterranean. I wish you 
could see it— clear, blue water with 
lovely, isles and grottoes. Then to Pom- 
peii and Herculaneum. Elegant palaces, 
rich carvings and paintings, covered with 
the ashes of desolation. We climbed 
Vesuvius and looked down into the huge 
crater full of red fires like some witch’s 
cavern. Then on to Rome, to the wild, 
gay carnival. Queer, fantastic figures, 
kings, queens, clowns, fairies, witches — 
like children on a holiday, laughing, 
jesting, coquetting. The poorest peas- 
ant may be a king once if he have the 
where- with-all to buy a costume.” 

“How' pleasant it must be to travel,” 


fcOINT VIVIAN. 


69 


said Janet, her eyes sparkling with pleas- 
ure at his entertaining talk. 

‘‘Yes,” he said, “I wish you might see 
England. You think we are proud, con- 
ceited, stiff, our homes uncomfortable. 
I wish you might see my home, Ashton 
Ma” — he stopped suddenly. His face 
crimsoned. 

‘‘How strange,” thought Janet, “that 
he always avoids speaking of home or 
his family.” 

“Have you read ‘Ben Hur’?” she said, 
pitying his embarrassment. 

“Yes, and like it,” he said. “The 
author has a w r onderful descriptive 
power, is a vivid word painter.” 

“Yes,” said Janet, “its author divinely 
portrayed a divine hero. How grand 
it must be to possess a genius, like Lew. 
Wallace’s, to write a book like that, so 
pure, so grand, as to become an inspira- 
tion for higher, better living for cen- 
turies to come.” 

“Talent, genius, is a grand posses- 
sion,” said Ashton. “Le Yere is a 
genius in music and art, and so modest.” 


70 


POINT VIVIAN. 


“Yes,” said Janet, “if I only pos- 
sessed a small talent— some gift that 
would give pleasure to others — how glad 
I would be. But I have none,” mourn- 
fully; “I love music, but cannot play a 
note. Pictures too, but I never could 
draw a straight line.” 

“Perhaps you never persevered,” he 
said, “in drawing.” 

“Yes,” merrily. “For many days I 
worked faithfully on a fish, and thought 
it a triumph of art. My drawing master 
coolly said he was glad I had labeled it, 
else he would have taken it for a boot- 
jack.” 

They both laughed merrily. 

“That lovely cottage is Calumet,” he 
said; “the owner is Mr. Emory, who 
made all his wealth in tobacco.” 

“Surely he can smoke the pipe of 
peace now,” said Janet, “with such a 
lovely home.” 

“That is Fairyland, home of Mr. Hay- 
den, and most rightly named,” said Ash- 
ton. “Miss Douglas,” abruptly, “you 
are different from any American girls I 
have ever met.” 


POINT VIVIAN. 


u 


“How so?” 

“You inspire confidence. You are so 
sincere. Most of the girls we meet have 
one ambition — to marry a title.” 

“Mr. Ashton,” said Janet indignantly, 
“you are not fair. There are a few heir- 
esses who prefer titles, but only a few. 
The noblemen are very thankful, I 
notice, to replenish their empty pockets 
by marrying American heiresses.” 

He smile blandly. He was only test- 
ing her. “I beg pardon, Miss Douglas, I 
do not include you in that speech.” 

“Mr. Ashton, I am an American, ”she 
said with dignity, “and I resent such 
views as that. There is not a country in 
the world where girls are as independ- 
ent, self-reliant and womanly as here.” 

“I grant you that, willingly. But why 
do so few marry , as in the Eastern States 
especially?” 

“Because, as a teacher once answered, 
‘they do not care to give up a forty-dol- 
lar position for a ten-dollar man ” 

Ashton laughed. 

“They are right. Then you , Miss 




POINT VIVIAN. 


Douglas— pardon the question— would 
not marry any man for his title alone?” 

He regarded her curiously. “Shall I 
tell her my secret? Would she ever for- 
give me?” 

“The title would make no difference 
to me,” she said ; “it would depend upon 
the man. I would rather earn my own 
living always than marry a man for his 
title alone , or money either .” 

“Will and your friend seem very hap- 
py,” he said. “Do you believe in love 
at first sight?” 

“In some cases.” 

“What, may I ask?” 

“Love at first sight of a— bonnet — a 
dress.” 

“Ah!” he said in disgust, “you are 
laughing at me. Do you believe in love 
at all?” 

“I do not know. I have never had any 
experience. Do you?” mischievously. 

“No; only as a calm, reasonable affec- 
tion.” 

“Why?” 

“Because man is a reasonable being. 


POINT VIVIAN. 


73 


Love is a delirious fantasy, in which 
the heart conquers the brain. When a 
man falls in love he loses his reason, 
judgment.” 

“I dislike that phrase falling in love,” 
said Janet, “as if one was unable to help 
it. People to ho fall in love usually fall 
out” 

“Yes/’ said Ashton, “hence unhappy 
marriages, whereas, if reason alone was 
guide all would be well. I can respect, 
admire, but love,” shrugging his shoul- 
ders, “leave that for boys. When a man 
falls in love he magnifies all good quali- 
ties till they become grand, heavenly. 
He is blind to all defects. He marries 
an illusion. He finds his idol is clay. 
Then comes incompatibility of temper. 
The lawyers and divorce courts pocket 
the fees, and that is the end. Reason 
should rule all.” 

“I don’t agree with you at all,” said 
Janet warmly. “ Reason where personal 
pleasure alone is considered is selfish - 
ness” 

“ How about the feminine side. Are 
they never disappointed?” 


POINT VIVIAN. 


74 


“Reason alone never performed grand, 
heroic deeds. Reason alone did not 
cause Christians to suffer the horrible 
tortures of the inquisition cheerfully 
rather than betray their Master or their 
friends.” 

“Why, then, is marriage a failure?” 
he asked. 

“It is not when rightly understood. 
Love is a divine sentiment; marriage, its 
sacred fulfillment,” she said earnestly. 
“Where there is real love there will be 
mutual forbearance.” 

“I wish every one had your ideas,” he 
said. “I beg your pardon, Miss Douglas, 
if I have offended by that unlucky 
speech. I have a secret to tell you. I 
hope you will listen mercifully .” 

Ashton’s pale face flushed, his eyes 
were brilliant with hope, sympathy, and 
another emotion. He bent his head. 
His lips moved. In another second his 
secret would have been revealed. Quick 
footsteps were heard, a gay laugh, and 
Mary Baron stood gazing archly at 
them. 


POINT VIVIAN. 


75 


CHAPTER XIII. 
ashton’s mystery. 

“Are you making love, too, like every 
one else?” said Mary sweetly. 

“Do you judge us by yourself?” said 
Ashton, shrugging his broad shoulders. 

“Oh! how naughty you are,” said 
Mary playfully. “Dear Janet, how 
bored you look.” 

Ashton’s pride was stung. Had he 
bored her? 

“I have had a delightful time,” said 
Janet; “so your idea is wrong.” 

“Bless my soul!” said a loud voice. 
“Lord Ashton, you here? — such a sur- 
prise!” 

A stout, florid Englishman advanced. 
Ashton shook hands stiffly, his face 
white as marble. 

Mary is listening intently. 


76 


POINT VIVIAN. 


“When I left your place, Ashton 
Manor, your mother said ” 

“Excuse me a second, 4 ’ said Ashton. 
“Miss Douglas, will you pardon me if I 
leave you for a few moments?” 

“Certainly.” 

Ashton walked off with his friend. 

“So your friend is traveling in dis- 
guise,” said Mary sweetly to Le Yere. 

“Absurd,” said Le Yere, flushing 
slightly. 

“Come, tell us all about it,” she said 
persuasively. “I will never tell.” 

“I have nothing to tell,” he said 
coldly. 

Ashton joined them. “Where is your 
friend?” asked Mary. 

“He left at the Park,” he said. 

“There is a mystery,” she thought, 
“and I will solve it. How handsome he 
is, what grand manners; I will win him 
yet. Mr. Ashton, will you please find 
me a seat in the bow of the boat?” 

“Certainly.” He offered his arm to 
Janet and then to her, a move which 
pleased Le Yere immensely. 


POINT VIVIAN. 


77 


“You must have thought it strange 
my leaving you so abruptly,” he said in 
a low tone. 

“Oh! no,” she said; “it was an old 
friend, I saw.” 

“She is perfectly indifferent,” he 
thought bitterly; “why should I care?” 

But he did. Miss Baron talked in- 
cessantly. 

Janet could not have found a loophole 
for talk if she had tried. But she did 
not try. She was completely absorbed 
in the enchanting scene. 

Among the Canadian isles were row- 
boats filled with a gay picnic party. 
The drops of water as they fell from the 
oars were like liquid pearls. The Is- 
land Wanderer passed, brilliant with 
lights, gay with people. Berne Light- 
house gleamed like a star in the waste 
of waters. The air was filled with the 
wonderful light, which was like a magic 
spell, transforming every object into 
beauty indescribable. It fell like a soft 
halo on Janet’s slender figure and clasped 
hands. It spiritualized the pale face, the 


78 


POINT VIVIAN. 


earnest gray eyes, the dark brown hair. 
Her heart rose and fell with the soft, 
dreamy music. 

“Oh, Robert! if you were only here,” 
she mused, “I would ask no greater 
happiness. If your eyes might only gaze 
with mine on this exquisite beauty ; your 
dear voice speak to me — all would be 
perfect. And to think you lived so 
nobly, so grandly; toiled hard, suffered 
and died, and never beheld this beautiful 
river.” 

“She looks like the Lily of Astolat to- 
night,” thought Ashton ; “but how she 
has suffered. It is only in repose her 
face is sad. Why is it she fascinates me 
so?” 


POINT VIVIAN. 


79 


CHAPTER XV. 
ethel’s warning. 

“I do not like that Mary Baron,” said 
Ethel one afternoon, as they sat on the 
upper veranda. “She is a treacherous, 
deceitful girl, and she will certainly 
make you trouble.” 

“How can she?” asked Janet. 

“Breaking up your friendship with 
Ashton,” said Ethel. “She chases after 
him all the time. Every time he calls 
on you she follows,” said Florence; “so 
he has to escort her home. She calls on 
you every day and professes the most 
devoted affection. She is only trying to 
cut you out. Don’t think me jealous, 
Janet,” said Ethel, “but I can’t bear to 
see you imposed on.” 

“If she craves his society let her have 
it,” said Janet. “I shall not raise my 
little finger to prevent her. Besides, Mr. 


80 


POINT VIVIAN. 


Ashton and I are only friends. Mary 
seems fond of me. Girls, you misjudge 
her. She is a bright, kind-hearted girl.’ 

“Janet! Janet! I wish you would 
give her up. Don’t have her prying into 
your affairs,” said Ethel. 

“I don’t like Ashton,” said Florence, 
“he is so conceited.” 

“But he is very intelligent and gentle- 
manly, said Janet. 

“His manners are all right,” said 
Florence, “but he is so reserved.” 

“He never speaks of his family,” said 
Ethel. 

“Perhaps he has not any worth speak- 
ing of,” said Florence sarcastically. 
“The way he patronizes our lovely 
scenery is absurd. I wonder if a dyna- 
mite explosion would shake his lordly 
composure?” 

“Here comes your guardian. Don’t 
tell her about our masquerade costumes. 
Excuse us.” 

They vanished. “My dear Janet,” 
said Mary sweetly, “are you all ready 
for the masque to-night. What will 
you wear? I will never tell,” 


POINT VIVIAN. 


81 


Janet showed her the dainty Amy 
Bobsart dress with white domino. 

“Oh! how lovely! and what will the 
other girls wear?” 

“I promised not to tell any one,” she 
said. “You know we each represent a 
character from a novel, and the fun will 
be to guess the identity.” 

“Yes, I am Di Vernon. Ethel and 
Florence don’t like me,” she said mourn- 
fully. “1 am an orphan, all alone, and I 
feel it.” There were tears in the dark 
eyes. 

Janet’s heart was touched. “But I 
am your friend,” she said gently. 

“Then if you care for me,” said Mary, 
“1 shall not mind the rest. You will 
always be my friend, won’t you?” ten- 
derly; “that comforts me so. I cannot 
bear to be separated from you an hour.” 

Janet felt reproached for her slight 
vexation. 

“Note for you,” said Reggie. 

“All right. May I read it?” asked 
Janet. 

“Certainly.” 


4 . 


82 


POINT VIVIAN. 


Mary watched her jealously while she 
read it. 

“Miss Douglas: May I have the pleas- 
ure of taking you for a row to Nobby 
Isle at three this afternoon? Please 
don’t refuse; I have something of impor- 
tance to tell you. Will call at three. 

“Dudley Ashton.” 

Some one called Janet downstairs. 

Mary quickly opened the note, read it 
twice. “Ah! fortune favors me again.” 
She listened, then quickly opened the 
wardrobe door, where the party dresses 
hung.” 

“I must go now, dear,” she said as 
Janet returned; “you will be the belle.” 

She met Ashton, looking very hand- 
some and neat in his boating suit. 
“Good afternoon, Miss Baron,” he said 
pleasantly. 

“How do you do,” she said sweetly. 
“I am so sorry to tell you that Janet 
cannot possibly go boating.” 

“Why not?” vexedly. 


POINT VIVIAN. 


83 


“Well! of course, you must know she 
is just engaged to a lawyer in Albany 
and feels rather agitated.” 

Ashton turned white. Why had she 
not told him? He forgot they were 
never alone any more. 

“So,” she said sweetly, “your impor- 
tant business will have to wait.” 

He felt disgusted. Did Janet, whose 
reserve he had admired, tell her girl 
friends everything, after all? 

“Well!” he said coolly, “will you take 
a trip with me?” 

“Certainly,” she said gayly, and 
proved a very pleasant companion. She 
had gained her point. 

“I will see her to-night, and she will 
explain,” Dudley thought. “Miss Baron 
looks very pretty in that pink dress.” 

Meanwhile, Janet waited until six 
o’clock. But her knight did not appear, 
nor any excuse. “He wanted to tell me 
his secret,” she thought. “Is he a 
nobleman in disguise for fear of Amer- 
ican heiresses? Mary always inter- 
rupts.” 


84 


POINT VIVIAN. 


Reggie rushed in. “Cracky, you 
ought to see Mary out rowin’ with that 
English swell.” 

Janet kept her own counsel. Why 
had he taken Mary after she had ac- 
cepted? It was the first rude act she 
had ever known him to do. “He shal 
apologize and learn I am not to be trifled 
with.” 


POINT VIVIAN. 


85 


CHAPTER XVII. 

THE NOVEL MASQUEKADE. 

So she laughed and talked gayly as 
they donned their pretty dresses for the 
novel masquerade at the Frontenac, 
Round Island. 

It was a private party, one hundred 
guests, and Mrs. Chadwick and Mrs. 
Lennox were their chaperones. 

The spacious parlors of the Frontenac 
were fragrant with the scent of the 
flowers, sweet with the strains of the 
orchestra. 

Exquisitely dressed ladies and courtly 
cavaliers in novel costumes of centuries 
past trod the stately minuet. Kings, 
queens, Meg Merriles, pages, clowns, 
Rob Roy, Leicester, Tresillian, etc., all 
mingled together like a carnival. All 
wore masks. Sir Walter Raleigh 
searched diligently for his queen. There 


86 


POINT VIVIAN. 


she was— -a stately figure with the pink 
rose on her shoulder. “Fair Queen,” he 
said softly, “how fares it with you?” 

“Right merrily, Sir Knight,” said an 
assumed voice. 

“The affairs of state are heavy,” he 
said; “will your majesty deign a waltz 
with me?” 

“Right willingly.” 

They glided gracefully over the floor 
until tired, and seated themselves in a 
cozy nook. 

“Ethel, darling, you knew me at 
once.” 

“Yes. How recognized you me?” 

“By the pink rose on your shoulder.” 

“Darling, when will you be my wife? 
Do not keep me in suspense.” 

“I cannot marry you,” she said coldly. 

“Ethel, you are joking,” he said, 
amazed. 

“Not at all,” she said curtly. “I am 
engaged to Mr. Bell; have been for a 1 
year.” 

“What!” Will exclaimed, horrified, 
“after all your vows to me? Why did 


POINT VIVIAN. 


87 


you deceive me? Ethel, take off that 
mask. Let me see your face. You can- 
not mean it.” 

“I do mean it.” 

‘‘Ethel, are you mad, [utterly heart- 
less?” 

“Call it what you will,” she said, “I 
care not. Mr. Lennox, you have made a 
line cavalier all summer. You have 
amused me. It would have been dull 
without some one.” 

‘‘Miss Schuyler, is a man’s love such 
as mine utterly worthless?” His face 
was white as death, drawn with suffer- 
ing. ‘‘Do you know this will spoil my 
life? Have you no pity, no remorse?” 

‘‘None whatever.” She laughed 
mockingly and left. 

Will was stunned, bewildered. Was 
this heartless creature his sweet, unself- 
ish Ethel. What cruel fate had changed 
her? 

His noble manhood revolted and 
writhed in agony. He would never 
speak to her again. 

The music, the lights and gayety 


88 POINT VIVIAN. 

whirled before him like a hideous night- 
mare. He laughed and jested gayly 
with all, but no one guessed the cruel 
pain he suffered. 

Lord Leicester was talking to Amy 
Robsart. 

“Janet, why did you refuse the boon I 
craved?” 

“Because, my lord, I was engaged with 
affairs of importance. I am about to 
take a voyage. Bee?” She held out a 
ring— a pearl set with garnets. 

Lord Leicester’s heart grew cold. 
“Why did you not tell me?” he said re- 
proachfully. 

“Because,” frankly, “I thought you 
might propose first. But you are like 
all Englishmen, slower than molasses in 
January, conceited as Sullivan. Yes, 
I’m going to marry a rich man. I wasn’t 
sure I would catch him till now. A bird 
in the hand is worth two in the bush, 
you know!” 

Had the whole world gone crazy? 
Was ever such an outrageous speech 
made before to mortal man? What a 


POINT VIVIAN. 


89 


mercenary creature? He had merely 
been used as a cat’-spaw. His pride was 
stung. 

“I thought you preferred independ- 
ence?” he said sarcastically. 

“I said so, didn’t I? It sounded well. 
I learned it from a book. We girls often 
do that.” Her voice was shrill. 

Had he made a mistake. No, there 
was the white domino, the blue bow. 

“Janet,” he said gravely, “is this 
really you or some one else?” 

“It is I,” she said airily; “how about 
your secret.” 

“That you shall never know,” he said 
firmly. “I trusted, believed in you 
once. Now it is over.” 

“Don’t make a scene,” she said scorn- 
fully. “Don’t speak to me again; you 
bore me to death with your precise, con- 
ceited ways.” 

“Never will I speak to her again,” he 
mused with outraged pride and anger. 

“Florence, why do you avoid me?” 
asked Ivanhoe of Rebecca. “I haven’t 
danced with you once. And you have 


90 


POINT VIVIAN. 


talked with that conceited ape, Elliott 
(The Clown) all the evening. Will you 
give me this waltz?” 

“No, I will not,” said Rebecca de- 
cidedly. “Elliot is not an ape nor half 
as conceited as you are. You needn’t 
dictate to me.” 

“Florence, I beg pardon,” said Ivan- 
hoe humbly. “I was cross.” 

“I am sick of being tied down,” she 
said. “You are good, John, but too 
slow. Our engagement had better end.” 

John was petrified. “Not that,” he 
said earnestly. “I will try to please you 
more.” 

“You can’t do it,” she said impatient- 
ly. “I like city fellows better. Elliot’s 
manners are elegant.” 

This was too much. John had once 
been very jealous of the gay collegian. 
It all came back. 

“You are tired of me?” he said slowly. 

“Yes.” 

“Elliot,” he said wrathfully, “a but- 
terfly, a dude, whose brains are all in his 
necktie, or the cut of his coat. Very 


POINT VIVIAN. 


91 


well, I wish you joy of him. I don’t 
deserve such treatment. You should 
ask my pardon, Florence.” 

“Pardon,” she sneered. “I’ll die be- 
fore I speak to you again.” 

John’s head was dizzy and confused. 
He would not pine for her. So he de- 
voted himself to a pretty widow (Queen 
of Scots). 

The clock strikes twelve. The masks 
are removed, amid gay laughter over 
mistaken identities. The grand prome- 
nade begins and the motley crowd files 
out to the supper room. 

Rebecca, Queen Bess and Amy Rob- 
sart look exquisitely lovely in their 
quaint costumes. Three sore hearts no- 
tice them, but pass coldly by — faithless 
Lord Leicester with triumphant Di Ver- 
non; Sir Walter Raleigh escorts a be- 
witching fairy queen; Ivanhoe, Mary, 
Queen of Scots. 

Mrs. Lennox and Mrs. Clifton are 
amazed, the girls indignant. There are 
many dominoes like theirs, but each 
had told their knights the distinguishing 


92 


POINT VIVIAN. 


mark. Now their faces proved their 
identity. There could be no mistake. 

“What ails those fellows?” muses the 
handsome Count of Monte Cristo (Le 
Yere), “to deliberately neglect their lady 
loves? Are they crazy? Can’t Ashton 
see through Miss Baron’s maneuvers? 
Where is his reason?” 

He gracefully offers his arm to Amy 
Bobsart. Queen Bess accompanies Col- 
umbus on a voyage of discovery to the 
supper, and Rebecca and the merry 
Harlequin follow Janet. 

Ethel and Florence are surrounded by 
admirers all the evening. Never have 
they been so gay, witty and entertaining 
as to-night. Never have their hearts 
been so sore. 

Will, with pale set face, watches Ethel 
as a mortal might gaze despairingly, 
hopelessly on the paradise he has lost. 
He has been surrounded by beautiful, 
cultivated girls all his life. Yet Ethel 
is the only one he has ever loved. He 
chose her from all. 

Ethel does not possess “the liquid 


POINT VIVIAN. 


93 


orbs, the finely-chiseled features, the 
classic outlines” of novel heroines. But 
she is charming, fascinating, attractive, 
with nobility of soul. 

Her clear, gray eyes reflect purity, un- 
selfishness, intellect. Her manner is 
well bred, refined. Her slender figure is 
becomingly arrayed in a rich, rose 
colored brocade (an heirloom from a fair 
anoestress). She wears a high ruff of 
dainty lace. Her dark brown hair is 
coiled gracefully around the stately 
head. A bunch of lovely roses is at her 
girdle. Her cheek has a rosy flush. 
She is jesting merrily with Lord Crom- 
well, who listens devotedly. Columbus, 
Mark Antony, Charles IX., Kobert Bruce 
are among her courtiers, eager to please 
her royal majesty. 

“Surely she cannot be heartless, with 
such a face as that,” poor Will thinks. 
How eagerly they had looked forward to 
this novel affair. “Novel, indeed,” 
thinks Will bitterly. “Pandora must 
have opened her box, and filled the air 
with mischievous imps.” 


94 


POINT VIVIAN. 


He has tried to be gay all evening. He 
can endure it no longer. 

“Mother,” he said softly, “let us go 
home. I cannot bear this cruel farce 
any longer.” 

“My son,” she said tenderly, “what is 
it?” 

“Nothing, mother,” he said bitterly. 
“Ethel is engaged to some one else. I 
have only amused her.” 

“What!” she said in horror. “Are 
you sure?” 

“Yes, she told me so. Don’t blame 
her. I did not suit her.” 

Will, her noble, idolized son, trifled 
with, deceived! She had thought Ethel 
worthy of him. His face is drawn with 
mental pain, white as snow. 

“My son, we will go,” she said gently. 
And they quietly departed. 

Ethel’s heart throbs with cruel pain. 
He cares for her no more. This is the 
end of all the delightful summer days, 
the happy, careless life! Will this 
wretched evening never end? She would 
like to be alone to shriek aloud in agony. 


POINT VIVIAN. 


95 


All the Schuyler pride of past generations 
comes to her aid. “He shall never know 
I cared, or the world,” and the poor 
queen, like many other royal namesakes, 
laughs and jests with all. 

Society is a mirror which reflects our 
disposition. If we are gay, it smiles— if 
sad, better remain at home. Lock the 
grim skeletons in their closets that they 
intrude not at the feast. Cover over the 
sadness, the grief with beautiful, ethe- 
real flowers of talk, jest, laughter. 

Mary is brilliant— happy. Ashton is 
devoted to her. That is sufficient. She 
thinks of no one else. 

Florence’s rich dress lights up the arch, 
pretty, brunette face. The Harlequin is 
very devoted. She is gayety itself ap- 
parently. 

“She cares for no one but that addle- 
pated idiot,” thinks Ivanhoe bitterly; 
“how can she be so heartless?” 

With masculine inconsistency he be- 
comes equally devoted to pretty Queen 
of Scots. 


96 


POINT VIVIAN. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

THE SERPENT IN EDEN. 

They sail home on the St. Lawrence in 
the early dawn. The play is over; the 
curtain has fallen, the lights are out. 
They may keep restless vigils till the hour 
for rising approaches. Point Vivian is 
like an earthly Paradise — a bit of Eden, 
but the serpent has entered in. 

Mrs. Chadwick determines to give John 
a lecture on duty, but he does not appear. 

Ethel and Florence send back their en- 
gagement rings. The breach widens. 
The girls keep their own counsel. They 
never mention their recreant knights. 
They never speak to them when they 
meet. 

Elliott and Florence, Janet with Le 
Vere, Ethel and Mortimer (Lord Crom- 
well) constantly attend parties, picnics, 
excursions. They are gay, lively. 


POINT VIVIAN. 


97 


Mrs. Clifton is angry with John; 
Mrs. Lennox, proud, resentful toward 
all. The neighborly visits between Rose 
Terrace and the Chadwick Cottage cease. 

Night after night Mrs. Lennox hears 
Will pacing restlessly on the veranda. 
She dare not speak to him about his 
trouble. His pride is as strong as hers. 
He has been cruelly hurt. Yet he loves 
Ethel still. If she were free he would 
not give her up— no earthly power could 
make him. 

Ashton is Mary’s devoted cavalier. 
She soothes his wounded vanity. She 
praises him for all he does. 

“He does not bore her,” Ashton thinks 
bitterly. He could forgive anything but 
ridicule. 

Three weeks of miserable doubt pass 

by- 

Janet at first missed her attentive 
cavalier. There had been a strong in- 
tellectual bond. Their different views 
had added spice to long confidential 
talks. His secret seemed destined to 
oblivion. 


fOINT VIVIAN. 


$8 


At first Le Vere had held aloof. But 
when Ashton did not return to her he 
became her friend. 

His keen, sympathetic nature divined 
her grief under the cheerful exterior. 
His music, his pictures, his brilliant con- 
verse delight her. 

They take long sketching tours to the 
lovely isles. Any time Ashton came 
back he would slip quietly aside. Janet 
did not mourn his defection. To her he 
was only a friend. 

“Yes, I am going home to-morrow,” 
said Janet. 

“So soon?”said Le Yere regretfully. 

“Soon?” she said gayly. “I have 
been here two months. This has been 
a beautiful summer.” 

Janet gazes at the shining river, the 
fleecy white clouds. How lovely Point 
Vivian is with its green, mossy nooks, its 
stately trees and huge bowlders. 

Le Vere picks up his sketch book. 
With quick, nervous fingers he outlines 
the pale face leaning against a huge, 
mossy tree. Her white dress is flecked 


POINT VIVIAN. 


with sunshine, a bunch of green ferns 
are at her slender waist. 

She looks up suddenly. “Why do you 
not paint a large picture of one of these 
lovely scenes?” 

“Perhaps I will some time, but nothing 
I do satisfies me. I cannot reach the 
ideal.” 

“But your sketches are real— not arti- 
ficial imitations.” 

“Thank you.” 

Her praise is more to him than all the 
honors, the fame he has won. 

“Miss Douglas, I wish you could see 
the magnificent paintings in Paris, in 
Rome, Vienna. How you would enjoy 
the superb music in the cathedrals. You 
can feel, can understand.” 

His black eyes are brilliant, his cheeks 
scarlet with enthusiasm. 

Janet shakes her head sadly. “Impos- 
sible for me. A castle in Spain would 
be more real.” 

“But you, too, may realize a castle in 
Spain.” 

“Oh! no. If Robert had lived I would 


100 


POINT VIVIAN. 


be content, perfectly happy, but now!” 
Her voice is unspeakably sad. 

“Yes, I know,” he said sympathetic- 
ally. “Grief is the shadow over all.” 

To none other could she speak of her 
sorrow. “All summer this beautiful 
river, the exquisite scenery, the music 
and all have lacked his presence alone 
to make it perfect. It has seemed like an 
opiate, which deadens the severe pain 
but does not entirely relieve it.” 

“Yes,” he said gently, “the dull ache 
is there. I often wonder you can be so 
interested in all.” 

“But I must be— I should die if I 
stopped to think of it— all the time. I 
beg pardon for troubling you, Mr. Le 
Vere,” she said. “I am very selfish.” 

“No,” he protested. “Will you let 
me get you some of that silver birch?” 

She rose quickly — her foot slipped. 
She would have fallen down the steep 
bank had not Le Yere quickly sprung 
forward. 

Just one moment he held her in his 
strong arms. His pulse beats madly. 


POINT VIVIAN. 


101 


Why should he not win her? Ashton 
had deliberately chosen Mary. 

He is not a saint or a hero. He loves 
this pale, quiet girl with all the inten- 
sity of a strong, passionate nature. 
Why should he give her up? His heart 
throbs fiercely. 

Her touch thrills him like an electric 
shock. If he might only have the right 
to hold her in his strong arms, to cover 
the pale face with tender kisses. But 
honor, inherited from a long line of brave 
Spanish ancestors, forbids. With iron 
will he conquers. 

“You are not hurt?” he said gently. 

“Oh! no, only a little startled. So 
foolish of me to forget that steep place.” 
She trembles like a leaf. 

His dark eyes have a strange, un- 
fathomable look. 

He makes a dainty book of the silver 
birch and paints pretty scenes thereon. 

“How cozy you are,” said her guardian 
Mary, appearing. “My dear Janet, I 
have something to tell you. Oh! Mr. Le 
Vere,” in pretended amazement. 


102 


POINT VIVIAN. 


“Don’t let me interrupt,” said he sar- 
castically. “Excuse me, Miss Douglas.” 
He departs. 

“Yes,” said the wily Mary, “I am so 
happy. Ashton — Dudley says I am the 
only one he ever loved.” Her eyes are 
hard, relentless as they gaze at Janet. 

“I congratulate you,” said Janet 
quietly. “He is a fine fellow. Will you 
have an early wedding?” She does not 
even change color or show any emotion. 
She is utterly indifferent. 

May is keenly disappointed. She had 
hoped for surprise — genuine suffering. 

“You are not angry?” she said. “I 
thought you might care for him your- 
self.” 

Janet drew herself up haughtily. “Do 
you think I wear my heart on my sleeve 
for any man’s choosing? I must be 
sought— not the seeker.” 

“What is that?” said Mary as a rus- 
tling overhead is heard. Nothing more is 
heard. She is keenly mortified. “ Janet,” 
she said sweetly, “Le Yere is engaged to 


POINT VIVIAN. 


103 


Governor Morton’s daughter; did you 
know it?” 

“Indeed.” 

“Yes. He has won very high honors 
in music and art. His pictures bring im- 
mense prices. But he is an awful flirt- 
hard as flint. It’s well you are unim- 
pressible. Too bad you can’t get him,” 
maliciously. 

“Such malice,” thinks Janet. “The 
girls were right. She is malicious. 
Ashton is too good for her. Shall I tell 
him? Let his reason find her out.” 


104 


POINT VIVIAN. 


CHAPTER XIX. 

ADRIAN SOLVES THE PROBLEM. 

“Something must be done,” Adrian 
threw his palette impatiently aside. 
“Two broken engagements — two friends 
estranged — ever since that novel masque- 
rade. There must be a Judas in Eden. 
I believe it is Mary Baron. She has been 
scheming to interrupt everything. 
Those girls are charming, but proud as 
Lucifer. They would die sooner than 
ask an explanation. The men ditto. 
Love and common sense make happi- 
ness. Leave out either and it is like a 
dish without seasoning. Will is at the 
Bay — starts for Boston this afternoon; 
Dudley starts for England; to-morrow 
John for Germany. Once separated they 
may never meet again. I cannot see 
their lives spoiled. Janet will be free. 
Perhaps she might be mine.” 


POINT VIVIAN. 


105 


His heart throbbed with ecstasy. “No, 
Dudley loves her.” He cannot betray 
his friend. His head is bowed. The 
struggle is long and bitter. 

“We are our own Fates; 

Our deeds are our doomsmen.” 

Deliberately, beyond recall he chooses 
his destiny. “Honor first. ,, Will must 
come back, Dudley must be reconciled, 
and Janet made happy. 

The steamer has gone. The next one 
will be too late. The thermometer is 
98° in the shade, when you find it. The 
August sun is glaring on the water. 

Resolutely he rows down to the bay. 
There is no time to lose. 

“Halloo !” said Mait, hailing him on the 
way; “where you goin’?” 

“Down to the Bay. Where are you 
bound for?” 

“I was a-goin’ fishin’,” said Mait 
sadly, “but Mrs. Smith, the house- 
keeper, went on a tear and fell and 
busted herself.” 

“What!” said Adrian. The idea of 


106 


POINT VIVIAN. 


steady, sober Mrs. Smith going on a 
“tear” was too comical. He laughed 
merrily. 

“You needn’t laugh,” said Mait; “she 
was going down the steps at Kose Ter- 
race and her dress caught on the railin’ 
and tore. She slipped all the way down 
and busted her ankle. If that ain’t goin’ 
on a tear I’ll give up. “There hain’t 
any one to home. Ethel’s over there, 
and I’m waitin’ for her.” 

Was ever fate more propitious? 

“I’ll send some one over,” said Adrian. 
“Say, Mait, } r ou go on fishing. I’ll see 
Miss Schuyler gets home all right.” 

“Cracky! will you?” said Mait rap- 
turously; “you’re a brick. Here’s 
Eeggie. Hoop-la.” 

They go bounding over the waters in 
Eeggie’s sailboat, and Adrian proceeds 
to cut the Gordian Knot. 


POINT VIVIAN. 


107 


CHAPTER XX. 

A FORTUNATE ACCIDENT. 

Point Vivian seemed asleep in the 
drowsy August afternoon— all but Ethel. 

She was sitting in the hammock 
watching the shining ripples, the boats 
sailing to and fro. All the others had 
gone on an excursion to Kingston. She 
felt the reaction, after the constant gay- 
ety, and refused to go. 

It was very lovely here, but she was 
glad to leave it all to-morrow. “I shall 
never see Will again, ” she thought, her 
heart aching cruelly. “What have I 
done that he has acted so? Is he a flirt? 
He shall never know I care, not if it kills 
me.” 

“Ethel,” said Mait excitedly, “Miss 
Smith has fallen off the steps and busted 
her an-i-kel. She’s gro’nin’ awful and 


108 


POINT VIVIAN. 


there hain’t no 'one to home. The serv- 
ants have all gone on a picnic, and 
Will’s gone to Bosting.” 

“Gone without a word of farewell 
even! Should she go to Hose Terrace?” 
She had not crossed its threshold in 
many weeks. If Will had been home no 
power would have tempted her. 

Humanity conquered. Mait took her 
over the river. 

“Will nobody come?” wailed Mrs. 
Smith, at the foot of the steps. 

“I am here,” said Ethel kindly. “I 
am sorry you are hurt.” 

“I am so glad,” said Mrs. Smith, re- 
lieved. “Mrs. Lennox is at the Bay. 
They won’t any one be home till night.” 

Ethel bathed the swollen foot in hot 
water and bandaged it deftly. 

“You are handy,” said Mrs. Smith 
gratefully; “that is better. Now, if I 
can get up. It is so hot here.” 

“You must not stand on it,” said Ethel; 
“let me help you.” 

Vainly she tried to help her up. 

Two hundred pounds were more than 
she could raise. 


POINT VIVIAN. 


109 


“If Master Will was only home,” said 
Mrs. Smith; “he is so strong.” 

“Thank fortune he is not,” mused 
Ethel. 

“Don’t try, miss. They will be home 
in a few hours,” and she sighed patiently. 

Ethel raised her head and put soft 
cushions under her. She bathed the hot 
forehead; she soothed the nervousness 
caused by the fall. 

Mrs. Smith fell sound asleep. The 
hot sun poured down upon her. She 
shielded her with a large umbrella. Her 
arms ached, her head grew dizzy as the 
long hours passed. 

Still she sat patiently there, fearing to 
awaken her. Would they never come? 

There was a soft footfall. 

She turned, expecting to see Mrs. 
Lennox. 

There stood Will with a ghastly, care- 
worn face. 

Her head whirled. She was so amazed 
to see him. 

“Good-afternoon,” she said coldly. 
“Mrs. Smith has had a fall.” 


110r 


POINT VIVIAN. 


“Yes.” 

“I could not get her in the house 
alone.’ 

“I should think not,” regarding her 
slender figure. “Where are the others?” 

“Gone to a picnic. There was nobody 
here or I should not have come,” Ethel 
said proudly. 

Oh! the mortification for him to find 
her there. 

“I thought you were in Boston.” 

“I changed my mind,” said Will. 
“When did it happen?” 

“At three.” 

“Now it is seven; you have sat here in 
this hot sun for four hours. Miss 
Schuyler, I am much indebted. I re- 
gret ” 

“Master Will,” said Mrs. Smith, wak- . 
ing, “I am so glad you are here. This 
lady has been so kind. The pain was 
awful. I guess I’d have died if she 
hadn’t come.” 

William, the gardener, now appeared. 
Their united muscles assisted her into 
the house. 


POINT VIVIAN. 


Ill 


Ethel settled her comfortably in her 
own room with one of the maids who re- 
turned. 

“She will be all right now, I think, 
Mr. Lennox,” said Ethel politely, “so 
good-afternoon.” 

“You are tired, Miss Schuyler,” said 
Will politely; “don’t go until you are 
rested and have some refreshments.” 

Ethel felt as if she would suffocate. 
“Thank you, it is not necessary,” she 
said. 

“Then allow me to row you home?” 

“Reggie or Mait will be here for me,” 
she said politely. 

She walked to the summerhouse. 


112 


POINT VIVIAN. 


CHAPTER XXI. 

WILL CONQUERS FATE. 

Will follows her slowly. “She will 
not even accept a single courtesy from 
me,” he thinks bitterly. “Fool that I 
was to come back for an explanation. 
She is utterly indifferent.” 

Mait is not visible. Ethel stands head 
proudly erect, gazing out over the river. 
Her face is white, emotionless. To be 
there so near him brought back all the 
happy days with cruel reality. The 
Schuyler pride is strong as the Lennox. 

She can suffer tortures and give no 
sign. Are these two who love so de- 
votedly to separate forever for the want 
of a few spoken words? 

Will cannot bear it. 

“Ethel,” he exclaims, “what have I 
done that you should treat me so, that 


POINT VIVIAN. 


113 


you should break our engagement with- 
out remorse?” 

She faces him proudly. “Will Lennox, 
I did not break our engagement until you 
treated me with the most unpardonable 
neglect. You simply amused yourself 
with me.” 

“Amused,” he said bitterly. “Did 
you not tell me with your own lips at 
that miserable masque that you had 
simply amused yourself with me — that 
you would marry some one else?” 

“Never,” said Ethel; “you never 
spoke to me once, nor I to you.” 

“You wore?” he asked. 

“The black domino, the pink rose.” 

“I don’t understand, ” he said, dazed, 
“but I vow that I talked with a lady I 
took for you. Do you think I had no 
pride that I would speak after that?” 

“Do you think I had no pride,” said 
Ethel, “that I would endure such delib- 
erate neglect?” 

“Ethel, tell me,” his voice shook with 
emotion, “are you engaged to any one?” 

“No,” she said sternly. “I never was 
to any one but you.” 


114 


POINT VIVIAN. 


“Ethel, can you ever forgive me?” he 
said, folding her trembling figure in his 
arms in a passion of regret, unspeakable 
relief. “I have suffered an eternity of 
agony. Some one — a Satanic spirit — 
wore your token, spoke those cruel 
words. I will find out if it takes for 
ever. I will never give you up.” 

“What brought you back?” 

“Le Yere. He rowed after me in a 
broiling hot sun — a burning sacrifice on 
the altar of friendship,” said Will. 
“Blessings on that fellow. To-morrow 
would have been too late.” 

Ethel shuddered. 

“Too late” has been the death knell 
of so many lives. 

“Ethel, who is the traitor?” 

“1 do not know.” 

“You suspect?” 

“Yes.” 

“Tell me, will you not?” 

“I would rather not.” 

“Mary Baron, I believe,” said Will, 
admiring the reserve which would not 
betray even an enemy. “There has been 


POINT VIVIAN. 


115 


trouble at the Point ever since she came. 
What is the matter with Dudley? He 
was devoted to Janet until that masque 
— and John to Florence.” 

“I do not know. The web of fate was 
sadly tangled that night,” said Ethel. 

“Yes,” said Will. “His Satanic Ma- 
jesty had a glorious time mixing up mat- 
ters.” 

“Let us find out and make them all 
happy,” said Ethel, with characteristic 
unselfishness. 

“With all my heart,” said Will warmly. 
“Mary is crazy after Dudley. The way 
she plots is ridiculous.” 

“He likes it,” said Ethel, “the way he 
follows her about.” 

“Beg pardon, she does the following,” 
said Will dryly. “Ethel, if it vras her, I 
cannot forgive her for trying to spoil our 
lives. There is mother coming.” 

“Mother,” he said joyously, “the mys- 
tery has been explained. This is the 
happy solution.” 

Mrs. Lennox’s pride relaxed. Her boy 
was happy again. How different from 


116 


POINT VIVIAN. 


the pale, careworn face she had bidden 
adieu to that morning. 

“Ethel,” she said graciously, “I am so 
glad; but what is that clinging to your 
dress?” 

Will bent down. “It is the key,” he 
said amazed; “a good omen.” 

He held it up, a quaint, massive gold 
key, tarnished with age. 

“Ethel, unlock the cabinet, dear. It is 
yours,” said Mrs. Lennox. 

“Where could it have come from after 
all these years?” said Will. 

“It must have been in the shrubbery,” 
said Ethel, “and swept along with my 
dress.” 

With trembling fingers she unlocked 
the queer cabinet. A magnificent dia- 
mond star lay there in a case of faded 
satin. 

“Oh! how lovely!” she exclaimed. 

“It is yours,” said Mrs. Lennox, smil- 
ing. 

“Oh! no,” said Ethel, protesting. 

“Yes, the finder of the key possess the 
contents, and ” 


POINT VIVIAN. 


117 


“And marries a Lennox,” said Will 
gayly. 

Ethel’s eyes sparkled as she held the 
glittering star in her hand. 

“Yes, Ethel, it is yours,” said Mrs. 
Lennox. “May your future be as bright 
as this star.” 

“Thank you,” said Ethel. “I hope I 
may deserve it. Poor Gabrielle!” she 
added, as the moonlight fell on the lovely 
sad face. 

“Yes, poor indeed in earthly happi- 
ness,” said Mrs. Lennox. “This lovely 
room has seen many a sad vigil. They 
found her one night— dead, sitting here, 
in front of Lionel’s picture, hands 
clasped, a smile upon her face. The 
doctors truly said heart disease. She 
left her jewels to me, but the star, an 
ancient heirloom, could not be found, nor 
the key.” 

They speak softly, reverently. 

The Rose Window gleams like an im- 
mense ruby. The room is filled with the 
odor of rose leaves, dead and lifeless as 
its beautiful owner. Her shadowy pres- 


118 


POINT VIVIAN. 


ence fills the Rose Room with memories 
of hopeless sorrow. 

The green waters are tipped with sil- 
ver as Will and Ethel row homeward. 
All the earth is glorified, transfigured, a 
vision of Paradise to them. 


POINT VIVIAN. 


119 


CHAPTER XXII. 

MAIT COMES TO THE RESCUE. 

John was moodily smoking a cigar in 
the Rose summerhouse. 

Dudley was pacing restlessly up and 
down, a new fashion for his quiet nature. 

Adrian was evidently meditating. 

“Where was Florence?” John won- 
dered; “flirting with that ape Elliott , 
probably , her piquant face smiling back 
at his devoted one. Forgetting his very 
existence. I won’t speak first,” he 
mused, “not if I die.” 

“Rats!” he exclaimed suddenly, pitch- 
ing his cigar over the railing. 

“Where?” asked Adrian dryly. 

John passed hastily down the Cedar 
Avenue. 

“What ails that fellow?” said Dudley 
sharply; “he used to be a sociable chap. 
Now he is as solemn as an owl.” 


120 


POINT VIVIAN. 


‘"Something on his mind,” said Le 
Vere dryly. 

“I should judge so. All the Ameri- 
cans seem to have. They can’t be still a 
minute — jerking* twisting as if on wires 
or nettles. Why can’t they sit still 
like ” 

“You are doing,” said Le Vere dryly. 

Dudley stopped. He was just as rest- 
less as any American. 

“Looks like a thunderstorm,” said 
Adrian. 

“Wish it would,” said Dudley, regain- 
ing his pace, “the air is oppressive.” 

“Seems to affect even your clear 
brain,” said Adrian. “What is the mat- 
ter, old man?” 

“Nothing, ’’said the “old man” shortly. 

“Dudley,” said Adrian gently, “we 
have been schoolmates together, confi- 
dential friends. You are restless, un- 
happy. What has Miss Douglas done to 
you?” 

“You shall not pry into my secrets,” 
said Dudley wrathfully; “leave me 
alone. You have been her devoted 


point Vivian. 


121 


admirer. You made up for any lack ou 
my part. Go on trying to win her.” 

Adrian’s black eyes flashed. His 
quick, passionate temper rose within him 
at such injustice. 

“Ashton,” he said quietly, “you do me 
wrong. At the masque you deliberately 
neglected her. How could you expect 
she would overlook it?” 

“Wait,” said Dudley bitterly, “and 
listen. That day Tasked her to go boat- 
ing. She refused. At the ball she told 
me she was engaged — showed me her 
ring; said she despised Englishmen; that 
I bored her to death. Do you think any 
man with a spark of self-respect would 
speak to her again?” 

“She said that?” said Adrian horrified; 
“never! Miss Douglas is a lady and 
could utter no such speech as that.” 

“Who was it, then?” sarcastically; “a 
spirit?” 

“Yes, an evil one.” 

“Go to her,” said Le Yere; “ask for 
an explanation.” 

“Never,” said Ashton. “Do you think 
I have no pride?” 


122 


POINT VIVIAN. 


“To-morrow,” mused Adrian, “he 
leaves for England. He is obstinate. If 
I let him go, the way is clear.” 

With all his strong nature he longed to 
win Janet. Why should he try to urge 
Ashton? 

“I thought you liked her,” said Ash- 
ton. He met Adrian’s dark eyes. 

“I beg your pardon, Ade,” he said, 
offering his hand. “I have been infer- 
nally jealous of you. You could play and 
sketch and talk with her and I could not 
even speak. Do you think” — eagerly — 
“there could have been a mistake?” 

“I am sure,” said Adrian, “some one 
fooled Lennox, broke him all up, and 
made trouble that night. Go to her and 
ask. Every one has a right to defend 
himself. She would never speak like 
that. She is not engaged, has never 
worn any ring.” 

“Miss Baron said she was.” 

“You believe her!” said Adrian dis- 
dainfully. “If you prefer her, don’t go.” 

“Prefer,” said Dudley. “Iam sick of 
her.” He hesitates. 


POINT VIVIAN. 


123 


His pride has been sorely hurt. Kidi- 
cule is a sharp axe. But love is stronger. 
It is the first time he has ever been 
humbled. “I will go,” he said, his blond 
head proudly erect. 

“Oh! I say,” said Mait, rushing in, 
“Ashton, are you goin’ to marry Mary 
Baron?” 

“Not if I know it,” said he warmly. 

“She told Janet so, and said Le Yere 
was engaged to a governor’s daughter.” 

“Of all consummate, combined impu- 
dence,” said Ashton, collapsing into a 
chair. 

“Any more remarks, young man?” 
said Le Yere dryly. 

“A lot more ’bout wasn’t Janet sorry 
she couldn’t get either of you, and Janet 
said she didn’t run after no fellers. I 
was up in that big tree, after a crow’s 
nest, an’ most tumbled down on her 
head. She’d had a fit. Cracky! Janet 
didn’t know I was up there, neither.” 

“Young man, you are a firstclass 
brick,” said Dudley; “what can I do for 
you?” 


POINT VIVIAN. 


124 

“I want a gun-n, a sailboat and two 
pistols and a toy cannon, and there’s a 
bully circus down to the Bay,” said Mait 
modestly. 

Dudley stared in amazement, then 
laughed. 

“Hold on,” he said, “I cannot order 
out all the military stores at once.” 


POINT VIVIAN. 


125 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

FLORENCE AND JOHN. 

“But you and Reggie shall go to the 
circus.” 

“Oh! Cracky!” said Mait, whirling 
round in somersaults, “hain’t that bully. 
I must tell Reggie,” and off went the 
hero who had come to poor Romeo’s 
relief. 

“What’s the matter? A crazy hop?” 
said John sarcastically. 

“The traitor has been found, I think,” 
said Le Yere. “John, go and make up 
with Florence at once. It’s all a mis- 
take.” 

“I have been an utter idiot,” said 
Ashton. 

“Here’s another,” said John, after 
they told Mait’s revelation. 

In a few minutes John reached Point 
Vivian. 


126 


POINT VIVIAN. 


Florence, sad and wretched, was all 
alone in the moonlight. To-morrow 
John went to Hamburg. Thej r would 
never meet again. “Very well,” she 
thought proudly,” let him go. I don’t 
care. I shall not break my heart for any 
man.” She was tired of Elliott; he was 
getting too devoted. 

“Florence,” said John, appearing. 

She started suddenly. He was pale, 
haggard, forlorn. He loved her still, she 
knew. 

“Florence, I can’t stand this any 
longer,” he said. “Why did you say you 
would never speak to me?” 

“I never said so,” she said, amazed. 

“Nor that you preferred city fellows ; 
that I was too slow?” 

“Never. John Morton, are you crazy 
or dreaming?” 

“Neither one. Why did you flirt with 
that empty-pated idiot, Elliott?” 

“Elliott’s head has no vacant rooms to 
let, Mr. Morton,” said Florence with 
dignity; “he is my friend. Be careful 
how you speak.” 


POINT VIVIAN. 


127 


John bites his dark mustache. 

“Where, Mr. Morton, did you hear 
these novel remarks?” 

“At that wretched masque at the Fron- 
tenac. May I be switched if I ever at- 
tend another.” 

“I never spoke to you then— you did 
not come near me,” said Florence 
coldly. “Don’t try to find an excuse for 
your neglect.” 

“Florence,” said John earnestly, “I 
solemnly declare I talked with a lady I 
took for you, who wore the black domi- 
no, the scarlet bow, and who said what 
I told you.” 

Florence could not doubt his sincerity. 
She had known him too long as an hon- 
orable, truthful man. 

“Then who was the missing link?” 
she said slowly. 

“Satan only knows,” said John. 
“Lennox was fooled; has just made it 
up. Very well, if you don’t believe me, 
I never stay where I am not wanted. I 
shall go to Hamburg, catch the cholera 
likely;” he turned away, wounded and 


128 


POINT VIVIAN. 


heartsick. “What would you care?” 
bitterly. 

Visions of John, dying in some foreign 
land of that horrible cholera were too 
much for Florence. 

“Don’t go, John,” she said softly. 

“Do you care, after all?” he said. 

Her black eyes are tender, brilliant; 
her arch face irresistibly bewitching. 
The cruel doubt is over. John is glori- 
ously happy. 

They stand arm in arm on the cottage 
veranda. Suddenly there is a broad 
glare. The searchlight is full upon their 
radiant faces. Merry laughter goes up 
from the gay crowd on the Island Wan- 
derer at their discomfiture. 

“It is worse than a kodak,” said John ; 
“who cares? I don’t. Just look at 
Gibbs?” 

The mischievous light touches him. 


He is dancing around 
In his rose-colored gown, 

A placard affixed to his manly back, 

“For Sale — Special Bargain — Clear the Track,’ * 


POINT VIVIAN. 


129 


“Great Soott! Gibbs is sold,” said 
John. 

“Mait’s work, I know,” groaned Flor- 
ence. 

Gibbs shakes his fists. at the laughing 
crowd, unconscious of the reason, and 
disappears in the Pepper Cup. He has a 
volcanic explosion when he discovers it, 
and fills the air with sulphurous re- 
marks. 

Mait would be well seasoned could he 
find him, but that guileless youth keeps 
out of his way. 


130 


POINT VIVIAN. 


CHAPTER XXIV. 
ashton’s secret. 

The nightly transformation is taking 
place. Queen Titania and all the magi- 
cians have enveloped the St. Lawrence 
River in bewitching beauty. Earth has 
vanished. Fairy land exists. 

The river is like a magnificent mirror 
reflecting the thousand exquisite isles, 
delicate ferns and leafy canopies. 

Hill Crest, Isle Royal, Rose Terrace 
and Point Vivian are all ablaze with bril- 
liant monograms, stars, anchors and 
quaint devices. Rockets are flying 
through the air, trying to rival the glit- 
tering stars. It is the usual Saturday 
night illumination. i 

“Well may it be called the American 
Venice,” said Janet rapturously; “one 
can no more describe its beauty than the 
bloom of a rose or the perfume of a lily. 


POINT VIVIAN. 


131 


Surely grief should be laid to rest. 
Three years to-day since I gazed the last 
on his noble face. My heart cries out 
with bitter longing. I want him back.” 

Janet walks restlessly back and forth. 
The old sorrow so long repressed will 
not be silenced. 

“Such a noble manhood. Why could 
he not have lived? So young — only 
twenty — to suffer and to die. Shall I 
ever forget that long year of agony, the 
daily struggle to be cheerful, knowing 
that he was doomed — that no power 
could save him? I would not mind any 
trouble if he could have lived. I must 
live for others. I am so weary of life.” 

“Miss Douglas, may I speak to you?” 
Ashton was pale as marble. 

“Certainly,” said Janet, surprised. 

“Miss Douglas, there has been a mis- 
take. Why did you refuse to go boating 
with me?” 

“I did not,” said Janet. “I waited 
until six.” 

“Miss Baron met me and said you de- 
clined,” said Dudley amazed. 


132 


POINT VIVIAN. 


“I never told her you had invited me.” 

“I thought it queer if you did,” said 
Dudley, relieved. “May I ask. Miss 
Douglas, are you engaged?” 

“You have no right to ask,” said 
Janet. 

“No,” he said humbly, “pardon me; 
but why did you tell me so at the masque 
at the Frontenac?” 

“Mr. Ashton, I never spoke to you 
there all the evening,” said Janet em- 
phatically. “You must have been 
dreaming.” 

“Dreaming!” he said bitterly. “Have 
all these miserable weeks been dreams? 
I wish they had. That night of the 
masque a lady in w T hite domino and blue 
bow, your costume, showed me her en- 
gagement ring. She said she despised 
Englishmen — would marry only for 
money.” 

“Can you describe the ring?” Janet 
asked. 

^ “A pearl set with garnets.” 
j That was the ring Mary Baron had 
urged her to wear. “You thought I was 
mercenary?” said Janet. 


POINT VIVIAN. 133 

“Yes, I believed your own words.” 

“Mr. Ashton, I do not possess a ring 
like that. I did not say one word to you 
that night. You doubted me; why are 
you here?” 

“Why am I here?” Ashton’s strong 
voice trembled with emotion. ‘ ‘ Because 
I love you, Janet. Because I cannot en- 
dure this silence any longer.” 

Janet was amazed. She had never 
dreamed that this calm, deliberate man 
loved her. 

“I was attracted to you irresistibly,” 
he said slowly. “I have laughed at 
love, called it a delirious fantasy of the 
brain. I have fought against it, but I 
would give all I possess to win you. If I 
have offended you in any way, 1 humbly 
ask your pardon.” 

“Please do not,” said Janet dis- 
tressed; “it was all a cruel mistake.” 

“Janet, I am not worthy of you,” he 
said earnestly; “but I would try to make 
you happy. You think me cold, selfish, 
absorbed. Janet, as my beloved wife, 
you should have every luxury, society, 


134 


POINT VIVIAN. 


travel. You might visit all the famous 
cities with their treasures of art. You 
should listen to the superb music your 
soul delights in. You may be lady of 
Ashton Manor, one of the most beauti- 
ful homes in England. I am very rich, 
Janet, for my secret is (I say it not to 
boast), I am Lord Ashton.” 

Janet was utterly amazed. His supe- 
rior manners had indicated high position, 
but she had never dreamed of his title. 

“Why this disguise?” she asked. 

“It was foolish,” he said, “but I dis- 
like notoriety. I wished to travel 
quietly.” 

And they had thought him conceited. 
He, who was a nobleman in reality. His 
dark-blue eyes were filled with tender- 
ness. He looked so noble, worthy of his 
title. What more could she desire? 
Affection, culture, wealth. She gazed 
on the sparkling emerald waters. Could 
they help her to peace or rest? “Mr. 
Ashton,” she said softly, “I respect — I 
admire you, but I cannot marry you.” 

“Janet,” he said passionately, “do not 


POINT VIVIAN. 


135 


tell me there is no hope. I cannot give 
you up. I will wait — in time, perhaps.” 

“I fear not,” she said gently; “your 
love deserves more than the friendship I 
can give. The world is filled with lov- 
able girls who are talented — better fitted 
than I for your high position.” 

“Janet, no woman on earth could 
make me happy but you. Nothing is of 
value but you. I cannot bear to see 
you drudging your life away. Give me 
the right to take care of you, dearest.” 
His voice trembled. 

Janet scarcely recognized the man, so 
earnest was his manner. “Pardon me,” 
he said, “but is there any one else?” 

“No,” she said gently, “I do not care 
for any one. I do not think I ever will. 
My heart is dead, buried in Robert’s 
grave. The beauty of life has vanished 
for me.” 

“Let me comfort you, Janet. In time 
you will forget.” 

“Forget!” she said passionately; “if I 
only could. Time brings me no comfort. 
I worshipped, idolized him. He was so 


136 


POINT VIVIAN. 


noble, patient in suffering, heroic in resig- 
nation to death. I wake in the night 
with my arms stretched out to embrace 
him. My heart aches all the time for 
the sound of his voice.” 

Ashton’s face was rigid with pain. 
Why must she suffer like this? “I wish 
we had never met,” said Janet. “I am 
sorry to make you suffer.” 

“No,” he said earnestly, “I shall be a 
better man for knowing you.” He 
bowed his white, agonized face on his 
hands. When a strong nature'gives way 
the suffering is intense. The ripples 
beat against the rocks like a funeral 
dirge. Janet’s heart filled with pity. 

Janet laid her hand on his arm. “Do 
not let me spoil your life. You can 
make so many people happy.” 

He raised a ghastly face. “It was not 
your fault. I may be your friend still. 
Yes, a true, steadfast one. If you 
change your decision you will let me 
know?” 

“Yes.” 

“Or if there is any favor I can do for 
you?” 


POINT VIVIAN. 


137 


“Yes.” 

“Miss Baron must be punished,” he 
said firmly. 

\ “Will not her conscience be suffi- 
cient?” 

“I do not think she owns such an 
article. I will make her confess to 
you.” He left Janet and walked slowly 
down the river path. 


138 


POINT VIVIAN. 


CHAPTER XXV. 

Yhe guardian confesses. 

“My dear Janet,” said Mary airily, 
“what are you making such a fuss over?” 
Mary looked very pretty in a rose-colored 
dress. 

“I have not made a fuss,” said Janet 
calmly. 

“No, I am the one,” said Ashton 
sternly. “You have made trouble for us 
all. Now it ends.” 

“Trouble?” said Mary. “Impossible.” 

“Miss Baron,” he said sternly, “you 
assumed several parts at the last Fron- 
tenac masque.” \ 

“I?” she said innocently. 

“Yes, you were the one who person- 
ated Miss Douglas, also Miss Chadwick 
and Miss Schuyler.” 

“Impossible; how could I?” 


POINT VIVIAN. 


139 


“You know best,” he said. “You 
may as well confess how you did it.” 

Ashton’s face was stern, relentless. 
Mary’s black eyes read him aright. He 
despised, loathed her, and he loved 
Janet. Her sin had found her out. She 
could hurt him and she would. 

“Well,” laughing scornfully, “when 
dear Janet left the room I saw the cos- 
tumes in the wardrobe. It was easy to 
imitate them and the love tokens. You 
poor fools were fooled. It was such a 
rare joke.” She laughed defiantly, 
without regret. 

“Who told you that I had asked Miss 
Douglas to go boating?” 

“Janet.” 

“I did not,” said Janet. 

“Come,” said Ashton sternly, “you 
opened the note, Miss Baron.” 

“Yes,” defiantly, “I did.” 

“Your motive for these extraordinary 
maneuvers?” 

“That is my affair.” The black eyes 
fell before Ashton’s scornful gaze. 

“Miss Baron,” he said sarcastically, 


UO 


POINT VIVIAN. 


“yon deserve a position on the diplo- 
matic corps. Point Vivian is too small 
a stage for yon.” 

She writhed under his remarks as 
under a lash. 

“Your last engagement to me was a 
stroke of genius.’ ’ 

“Who had told him that?” Mary 
blushed a scarlet hue which felt like 
fire. “Janet Douglas,’’ she said vindic- 
tively, “1 hate you. I was your friend 
simply to make use of you. I wish I 
could hurt you, make you feel.’’ 

“Then your friendship was all pre- 
tense?” Janet was calm. All the pity 
vanished from her face. “You have hurt 
my very soul. I loved and trusted you 
once. You used me as a tool. You de- 
liberately injured my friends. Has my 
life been so filled with happiness that 
you should deprive me of all pleasure?” 

“We can be friends again,” said Mary 
sullenly. 

“Friends— never,” said Janet. “Faith 
is dead. Without it friendship cannot 
exist.” 


POINT VIVIAN. 


141 


Then Mary turned mockingly to Ash- 
ton. “Lord Ashton, I knew of your dis- 
guise. You love Janet, but her heart is 
marble.” 

Lord Ashton did not deign to reply. 

“Florence and Ethel disliked me,” said 
Mary, “but I made them suffer.” Her 
passionate infatuation choked her voice. 
Dudley hated her. Slowly she walked 
down the path. They never saw her 
again. 


142 


POINT VIVIAN. 


CHAPTER XXYI. 

Adrian’s sacrifice. 

The dock house at Point Vivian is like 
a small edition of the Inferno, with the 
hot sun pouring down. A merry crowd 
are chatting gayly, waiting for the boat 
to Clayton. 

Ashton is bound for London; Adrian 
to Spain; Mrs. Lennox and Will accom- 
pany Ethel to her home at Albany. 

Janet remains a few days longer with 
the Chadwicks. 

“Miss Douglas,” said Ashton earn- 
estly, “this has been a very pleasant 
summer to me. 1 shall never forget it; 
and if ever I can assist you in any way 
you will let me know?” 

The sunlight falls on the noble, high- 
bred face. 

“You will write to me?” 


POINT VIVIAN. 


143 


‘I think it would be better not to,” 
Janet says gently. 

He knows then there is no hope. His 
face quivers slightly. “As you will. 
God bless and keep you, Janet.” 

I Janet bows her head. It seems like a 
benediction. A rose, white, fragrant, 
falls from her belt. 

“May I have it?” 

“Yes.” 

He touches it reverently. It is like 
her— pure, sweet, spotless. 

“I will remember,” he said earnestly, 
“and try to make my life brighter for 
others.” 

He touches her hand lightly and then 
joins the gay party at the dock. His 
face is 1 calm. No one but Le Yere 
guesses the tumult in his heart. 

Through all the long years that follow 
Janet is indelibly stamped on his mem- 
ory. Her influence renders him kind, 
sympathetic to all around him. 

“Miss Douglas, I am'sorry the summer 
is over,” said Le Yere regretfully. 
“Take good care of yourself. Don’t let 


144 


POINT VIVIAN. 


those young cormorants devour all your 
vitality.” 

“Teaching is not so dreadful,” said 
Janet. “I have had a perfect rest in this 
lovely place.” 

“I wish your life was different,” said 
Le Yere. “Ashton is a noble fellow and 
has a beautiful home.” 

“Yes, I know.” Janet flushes slightly. 

Adrian is puzzled over her rejection. 
Few would have declined such brilliant 
prospects. 

“I have learned a lesson,” said Janet; 
“this beautiful river like your music r 
has comforted me and taught me that I 
must give up self-absorption. I must 
rise above it,” she said, her face radiant, 
transfigured; “I will take every day and 
make the best of it.” 

Adrian’s heart beats madly. How he 
loves this quiet, earnest girl. 

He looks like a Spanish cavalier, with 
his brilliant eyes and graceful figure. 
His face is haggard. There are deep 
lines under his eyes. 

Janet’s keen intuition detects a 


POINT VIVIAN. 


145 


change. “You are working too hard, 
Mr. Le Vere,” she said. “Plow is your 
picture getting on?” 

“I wish,” he said, “to paint a master- 
piece that once seen, will never be for- 
gotten, and 1 cannot do anything.” His 
voice is hopeless, despairing. “I am 
like one whose soul is filled with divine 
harmonies, but whose unpracticed fin- 
gers make only discord among the keys.” 

“You must not be discouraged,” said 
Janet; “you have done so well.” 

“Trifles,” he said lightly. “When I 
look at the works of Titian and Raphael 
I am desperate. “Of course I cannot 
attain to their divine genius, but I can- 
not reach my own ideal.” 

“Tell me about it, please,” said Janet. 

Her sympathy draws him out as no 
one else can. “Mrs. Glendemming’s 
story suggested it,” he said slowly. “I 
wish it to be a woman’s face, one who 
has loved, suffered the agony of renun- 
ciation; who has conquered, who is 
strong, sympathetic.” 

“Yes,” said Janet, “like the poem: 


146 


POINT VIVIAN. 


“ ‘How grand the soul that has suffered deep, 
Been torn and bruised in the strife; 

Yet still walks on, an angel of light, 

In the world’s broad field of life.’ ” 

“Yes,” he said, “exactly my idea. 
Not a face of mere physical beauty, de- 
pendent on outline, on coloring; but a 
face spiritualized; the reflection of a 
noble soul of such marvelous loveliness 
that ” 

“Yes,” interrupted Janet, “that all who 
saw it would be fascinated, inspired. 
Such a face would be indelibly im- 
pressed on one’s memory.” 

“Your intuition is perfect,” said he. 
“Who can paint a soul? — the divine, in- 
tangible essence of life? As well try to 
paint the subtle perfume of a rose.” 

“You can do it,” she said cheerily. 
“You possess the keen insight of a soul 
artist. , No artist can paint an emotion 
he has not felt. I feel that you have 
known renunciation.” 

How little Janet knew what that re- 
nunciation meant. 


POINT VIVIAN. 


14 ? 


His eyes are fixed on Hill Crest. 
“Thank you,” he said. “I inherit the 
wretched temper of the Don Garzos; 
am irritable, cross.” 

“Not cross,” she said, “but tired. 
You work with enthusiasm, every 
nerve strained to highest tension. Re- 
action follows. You are depressed.” 

“You are kind,” he said, “to think 
so.” 

“No, only just. Mortals cannot dwell 
forever on the heights of Olympus, 
among the gods. They must descend to 
earth.” 

The white flags wave. The St. Law- 
rence sails slowly in on waves of foam. 

“Hurry, Adrian,” calls Lennox. 

“I will not say good-by, but Auf 
wiedersehn. If I can ever do anything 
for you, remember 1 will come if the 
ocean rolls between us.” 

He takes both hands in a lingering 
clasp. Spite of self-control the dark 
eyes are filled with unutterable love and 
longing. 

Janet reads his secret with regretful 
pain. 


148 


POINT VIVIAN. 


“ Auf iviedersehn ,” she says; “suc- 
cess and honor.” 

“Thank you;” his voice is full of re- 
pressed emotion. 

He will not speak yet. Ashton shall 
still have a chance of winning her. 

As one bidding an eternal farewell to 
the beloved dead, slowly, regretfully he 
turns away. 

“Good-by, Mrs. Chadwick; your cot- 
tage should be called ‘View Perfec- 
tion,’” he says gayly. “Mrs. Bennett, 
Mait will make a second Columbus. 
Phrenology must be revised to account 
for his bumps. I hope you will all visit 
my castle in Spain.” 

“I’m awful sorry you swells are goin’,” 
said Mait. “Ashton, that circus was 
bully,” headded. “They had an awful 
smart man, could twist himself outside 
in and in side out. Old Gibbs won’t speck 
date any more. Broke his specks takin’ 
a trip on a cord on his back stoop. So 
mad he’most busted himself. Who could 
have put that cord there?” 

They all laugh at Mait’s innocent face, 


POINT VIVIAN. 


149 


The gang plank is thrown ashore, the 
passengers throng on. 

Mait gives a wild whoop. They are 
off. 

The three persons, whose lives were 
so strangely interwoven, separate. 

Lovely Point Vivian, with its mossy 
glades, recedes. Ashton and Le Vere 
stand motionless, their eyes fixed on the 
woman they love so hopelessly. 

Ashton muses: “Sophocles was right. 
‘Call no man happy till he is dead.’ She 
bears her burden bravely. Can I do 
less?” 

Adrian’s face is rigid. “Poor Dudley. 
What a bright future Janet might have 
with him. If she could love a brother so 
devotedly, a lover she would idolize. 
She is not heartless, but the agony of 
death has swept all before it. Dudley 
shall have every possible chance to win 
her.” 

! Adrian sets his lips firmly together. 
“She shall never know. I will conquer 
if it kills me.” 

The ripples seem to repeat the words: 


150 


POINT VIVIAN. 


“ Hast thou chosen then? 

Canst thou endure 

The purge of frost — the calenture ; 

The sick recoil, the weary pain, 

Of senses heightened, 

Keener nerves and brain? 

Suffer and love : 

Love much, and suffer long, 

And live though all, 

And in the end be strong.’ ’ 

Centuries ago there had been a Don 
Garzo, a Jesuit priest noted for learning, 
but cruel and relentless to his enemies. 
As a member of the Spanish Inquisition 
he would torture his victims with fiend- 
ish malice, never showing any emotion 
whatever. Adrian, with his intense, pas- 
sionate nature, had inherited this iron 
will. He had tried to crush out his love 
for Janet rather than betray his friend. 

No tortures of the Inquisition could 
have caused more excruciating pain than 
he experienced now. No Jesuit priest 
was more relentless than he in trying to 
destroy this love, entwined round every 
fiber of his strong nature. 


POINT VIVIAN. 


151 


“Adrian,’* calls Will, “I can never 
thank you enough for solving this mys- 
tery. You cut the Gordian knot with 
the blade of common sense.” 

“Don’t mention it,” said Le Yere 
gayly. “Mary Baron is fitted for the 
stage by her consummate acting.” 

“She went on the stage this morning,” 
said Ashton, “home to Berryville.” 

“She played a masked game with 
three dominoes,” said Ethel; “some 
people need a whole set.” 

“If only Janet was happy,” mused 
Ethel. “Strange Le Yere or Ashton 
were not attracted by her.” 

“It is very queer, John,” said Flor- 
ence, as they sit in the twilight, “that 
Janet has no fate. Will Lennox should 
have fallen in love with her. If that sly 
Baron girl had not meddled Ashton 
might, in his calm reasonable way, have 
liked Janet.” 

So they all surmise, little dreaming 
of the tragedy that has been played. 

Three years have passed. Ashton has 
nobly redeemed his promise to Janet. 


152 


POINT VIVIAN. 


His tenants find him kind and helpful. 
A majestic lady shares his home, whom 
he treats with utmost deference. But 
Janet is never forgotten. 

Adrian’s picture is a grand success; 
artists* critics, rave over his “Renuncia* 
tion.” It is a masterpiece, with the 
delicate touch of genius. 


A MODERN PROPHETESS. 


I 


A MODERN PROPHETESS. 


CHAPTER I. 

Douglas Manor was a stately brown- 
stone mansion, surrounded by green, 
sloping grounds which led to a pictur- 
esque lake fringed by willows. On the 
opposite side was a dilapidated old mill 
covered with ivy. 

Strange stories were told of uncanny 
apparitions which haunted its precincts 
at midnight. For many years the mill 
had done a thriving business, but the 
miller had died, and the old mill belonged 
to the Douglas estate and was con- 
sidered a useless ruin. Aaron Douglas, 
the great millionaire, had died, and his 
heirs met in the library to-day to hear 
his last will and testament. The Jan- 
uary sun streamed through the clear, 
plate-glass windows on the rich furniture 


156 


A MODERN PROPHETESS. 


and ponderous books so well loved by 
their owner. 

Mrs. Douglas was a plump little 
woman, with dark hair and lustrous 
brown eyes. She had loved her hus- 
band devotedly, and his death left her 
desolate. She had no children, but her 
niece, Amanda Davis, and Robert Hilton, 
an orphan, had lived with her for years. 

Amanda was small and slight, with 
sharp features and greenish eyes. Her 
foot tapped the floor impatiently, as if 
she was anxious to have the business 
over. 

Robert Hilton was a tall, noble-look- 
ing man of twenty-five. His dark eyes 
were fixed on the lawyer, but his face 
was impenetrable. 

Lawyer Gates was a majestic old man, 
with keen, blue eyes, and snow-white 
hair. Mr. Gates cleared his throat im- 
pressively. 

There was a dead silence in which the 
ticking of the clock was distinctly heard. 

Then Mr. Gates read impressively: 
“I, Aaron Douglas, being of sound mind, 


A MODERN PROPHETESS. 


157 


do hereby give and bequeath to ray dear 
wife, Estella Van Renssellaer Douglas, 
one-half of my whole estate, real and 
personal, and the other half, real and 
personal, to my adopted son, Robert Hil- 
ton Douglas.” 

Mr. Gates paused and eyed Robert 1 
pitilessly. Robert did not meet his 
gaze. His face was white as marble, his 
dark eyes fixed on Aaron Douglas’ por- 
trait. It was a handsome face, with 
stern, set lips and keen, gray eyes. 

The sunlight touched the face, and 
the lips seemed to move. 

“I am surprised at your husband’s 
will,” said Mr. Gates. 

Amanda’s eyes flashed. 

“And I am forgotten,” she said. “It 
is infamous. It is wrong, a terrible in- 
justice.” 

“Will you please examine this signa- 
ture?” said Mr. Gates. 

Mrs. Douglas came forward. She 
studied it closely. The handwriting 
was bold and regular in outline. 

“It looks like my husband’s,” she 
said. ; 


158 


A MODERN PROPHETESS. 


Amanda studied it eagerly. “It is not 
Uncle Aaron’s writing,” she said posi- 
tively; “it is only an imitation. This 
signature is a— forgery.” 

Robert’s face became ashen. “What 
is your opinion, Mr. Hilton?” said Mr. 
Gates. 

“I suppose it is Mr. Douglas’ signa- 
ture,” said Robert coolly. 

“No, sir, it is not,” said Mr. Gates. 
“I have carefully studied and compared 
it. It is a clever imitation, but nothing 
genuine.” 

Mrs. Douglas started. “Impossible,” 
she said. 

“ Quite possible ,” said Mr. Gates. “A 
few weeks ago your husband made an- 
other will, disinheriting Robert. He was 
very angry with him for certain reasons. 
That will is missing. This will was not 
signed, but laid aside in the safe. Who 
had the keys?” 


A MODERN PROPHETESS. 


159 


CHAPTER II. 

Robert sprang to his feet. “I had the 
keys to the safe.” 

Mr. Gates smiled. “The mystery is 
solved. Robert had the keys. He alone 
could benefit by the removal of one will 
and the signature of the other.” 

Mrs. Douglas looked bewildered. 
Amanda’s green eyes flashed. Robert’s 
face darkened. 

“How dare you accuse me?” he said. 
“You know I am innocent.” 

“Your own lips condemn you,” said 
Mr. Gates. 

“You are a forger,” cried Amanda. 
“This is your way of repaying uncle’s 
generosity, aunt’s affection.” 

Robert faced them bravely. “I am 
innocent,” he said. “I did not touch 
that will.” 

“You will have to prove it,” said Mr. 


160 A MODERN PROPHETESS. 

Gates. “Did you know Mr. Douglas had 
disinherited you?” 

“Yes,” said Robert firmly; “but I 
know he changed his mind afterward.” 

“Did you know why he was angry 
with you?” asked Mr. Gates. 

Amanda listened eagerly. 

“Yes,” said Robert coolly. 

“Whatwas that reason?” 

“I decline to answer,” said Robert; “I 
am not on the witness stand.” 

Amanda breathed heavily. Her eyes 
were downcast. 

“You may be obliged to reply,” said 
Mr. Gates. “It is a case pf abominable 
ingratitude, of deliberate crime. Mrs. 
Douglas, when will you begin the prose- 
cution? 1 am at your service.” 

“There will be no prosecution, ” said 
Mrs. Douglas firmly “There must be 
a great mistake. My husband loved and 
trusted Robert as his own son. Robert is 
incapable of such a deed. My husband 
probably destroyed the other will. He 
intended Robert should be his heir, for 
he often told me so.” 


A MODERN PROPHETESS. 


161 


“Madam,” said Mr. Gates, “I am sur- 
prised at jour lack of spirit. Facts are 
too strong. Robert, you had better con- 
fess.” 

“I have nothing to confess,” said 
Robert proudly. “I am innocent. You 
must do as you see fit.” 

“Such mercenary conduct is abomina- 
ble,” said Mr. Gates. “You deserve 
punishment, sir.” 

“This affair must be kept secret,” said 
Mrs. Douglas. “I rely on your honor, 
Mr. Gates, and on your respect, Amanda. 
Robert shall share with me, as this will 
indicates his father intended.” 

“I protest,” said Amanda. “Aunt, 
you are crazy. You have no respect for 
uncle’s wishes.” 

“Allow me to judge,” said Mrs. Doug- 
* las quietly. “I know Robert is innocent. 
I know of no reason why he should be 
angry with Robert. He always pleased 
him.” 

“You are acting very unwisely,” said 
Mr. Gates. “Your affection blinds your 
reason, madam.” 


162 


A MODERN PROPHETESS. 


Robert arose. “Mother,” he said, “I 
thank you. I will not accept one penny 
of this estate till my innocence is 
proved.” He bowed his head, then left 
the room. 


A MODERN PROPHETESS. 


163 


CHAPTER III. 

Robert walked down the avenue with 
bowed head. “Some more of Amanda’s 
work,’’ he muttered. “A female Judas. 
‘God made her, so let her pass for a 
woman,’ but if she was a man”—he 
clinched his hands fiercely — “she should 
answer for this slander.” 

“How will Violet take it? A fairer, 
sweeter woman never breathed.” He 
smiled and the shadows vanished. 

He crossed the road to a pretty villa 
among trees and vines. 

A lovely blond, with blue eyes and 
golden hair, hurried to meet him. “You 
are late,” she said gayly. “I have waited 
so long.” 

Robert’s face became grave. “The 
will has been read,” he said gravely. “I 
have bad news.” His dark eyes dwelt 
on her fair face lovingly. 


164 


A MODERN PROPHETESS. 


“Bad news?” said Violet Gray; “tell 
me about it.” 

He told her all; the accusation, the 
blot on his honor. 

Violet’s face changed from surprise to 
dismay. “What nonsense,” she said. 
“Surely you can prove your innocence?” 

He shook his head sadly. “I wish I 
could. Unluckily, I alone held the keys 
to the safe. Mr. Gates and Amanda 
think me guilty.” 

“It looks so,” said Violet. A curious 
change came over her. 

Robert, the rich heir of Mr. Douglas, 
was a different person from the man 
accused of forgery and penniless. 

“Violet,” he said softly, “surely you 
do not think me guilty? Surely you 
trust me?” 

“I don’t know,” said Violet. “It 
seems strange. There is no other person 
who could benefit by it.” 

“Violet,” said Robert sternly, “you 
doubt me. Have you ever known me to 
prove dishonorable?” 

“No,” said Violet pettishly, “but 


A MODERN PROPHETESS. 165 

there was no reason. I suppose this 
sudden temptation was too much.” 

“Violet,” said Robert, “I swear I am 
as innocent as yourself. How can you 
doubt me?” 

“There is no one else,” said Violet. 
“You must be guilty.” 

Robert sprang to his feet. Erect, 
proud, with flashing eyes, he looked like 
a king. “Yon need say no more,” he 
said, “our engagement is ended. I re- 
lease you.” 

“Very well,” said Violet coolly. “It 
is the best you can do under the circum- 
stances. I will never marry a criminal.” 
She drew off from her finger a pearl ring 
and handed it to Robert. 

Robert threw it on the floor and 
crushed it under his feet. 

“Your love was more frail than this 
ring,” he said bitterly. “So perishes 
my faith in you and all women.” 

After a pause he said entreatingly : 
“Have you no heart that you cast aside 
my love at the first breath of suspicion?” 

“None for you,” she said coldly. 


1G6 A MODERN PROPHETESS. 

Robert’s strong features worked con- 
vulsively. “So be it,” he said proudly. 
“You have treated me with cruel injus- 
tice, but the future will vindicate me.’’ 

He quitted the room hastily, his brain 
in a whirl. Her love had failed him when 
he needed it sorely. In a few hours, 
by a fiendish accusation, his life had 
been spoiled. He walked for hours 
through a pouring rain, trying to con- 
quer the terrible tumult inside. 

Mrs. Douglas had spent a sleepless 
night. She met him at the door. 
“Robert,” she said, “you are ill.” 

“Not ill,” he replied bitterly, “but 
weary of life.” 

“You are too young to say that,” she 
said. “This mystery will be solved 
some day. I know you are innocent. 
Then there is Violet.” 

“She has given me up,” he said bit- 
terly. “She is dead to me. I will live 
it down.” He went to his room. 

Mrs. Douglas asked him no questions. 
She realized his terrible trial. 

Mr. Gates kept his own counsel, but 


A MODERN PROPHETESS. 167 

some unknown person told the story, and 
Robert was regarded as a criminal who 
had betrayed his benefactors. Robert 
shunned society. He worked constantly 
as Mrs. Douglas’ manager, and would re- 
ceive only a moderate salary. He grew , 
moody and absorbed with a cynical con- 
tempt for women. 

Violet flirted unceasingly with many 
suitors. 


168 


A MODERN PROPHETESS. 


CHAPTER IV. 

The July sun shone brightly on the 
silver and cut glass at Douglas Manor. 

Mrs. Douglas had poured the coffee. 
Robert was eating his breakfast in moody 
silence. Amanda handed Mrs. Douglas 
a letter. She read it slowly, her pale, 
sorrowful face brightening. 

“Ethel Stuart is coming to visit us,” 
she said. “I hope you will like her, 
Robert.” 

“It will not make any difference to 
me,” he said coldly. “\Vomen do not 
interest me.” 

“She is a great society belle,” said 
Amanda, “and a very charming woman; 
an heiress, too.” 

“Just the kind I detest,” he said; 
“mere butterflies of fashion, fickle as 
the sea.” 

“She is a womanly woman,” said 
Mrs. Douglas, “and very cultured.” 


A MODERN PROPHETESS. 


169 


“Cultured women do not crave my 
society,” said Robert. “I am not a col* 
lege bred man.” 

“But you might have been,” said 
Amanda. “Aunt offered you a fine edu- 
cation.” 

Robert’s face darkened. “Yes,” he 
said bitterly, “life might have been very 
different, but it is not.” 

Mrs. Douglas’ brown eyes regarded 
him wistfully. Robert had refused all 
share in the estate, except a small 
salary. 

“I shall not trouble this paragon, this 
brilliant heiress,” he said. “I have 
work to do.” 

He rose hastily and left the room. 

Ethel Stuart arrived in the afternoon 
just as Robert entered the parlor. Mrs. 
Douglas greeted her warmly, and then 
“my son Robert” was introduced. 

He coldly acknowledged the introduc- 
tion and surveyed her critically. 

Ethel was tall and slender, very fair, 
with dark brown hair and expressive 
gray eyes. Her dress a stylish blue suit, 


170 


A MODERN PROPHETESS. 


bore the stamp of a city tailor, and her 
manner was cordial and elegant. Robert 
made no effort to converse, which rather 
piqued Ethel, as she was accustomed to 
attention from gentlemen. 

That evening Mrs. Douglas invited her 
friends to meet Ethel, and insisted on 
Robert’s joining them. 

“What a wonderful science palmistry 
has become,” said Maude Elliot, a viva- 
cious brunette. “I wish there was a good 
palmist here. I would consult her.” 

Ethel smiled. “I know a little about 
it,” she said. 

“Oh! please read my hand,” said 
Maude ecstatically ; ‘I am wild about it.” 

“Very well,” said Ethel gayly; “your 
left hand, please.” 

Maude stretched out her shapely hand, 
and the guests all listened with marked 
attention. “You are cheerful, impul- 
sive,” said Ethel, “not fond of practical 
matters, but like music. You have two 
admirers, a blond lawyer and an elderly 
widower.” 

The guests laughed heartily and Maude 


A MODERN PROPHETESS. 


171 


blushed furiously. The “blond lawyer” 
bent eagerly forward, to Maud’s discom- 
fort. 

“You have quarreled with the blond, 
but will make it up,” said Ethel; “you 
will marry the blond within a year.” 

“Impossible,” said Maude defiantly, 
her eyes meeting the blond lawyer’s. 

“Quite possible,” said that individual 
calmly. 

Maude’s confusion was hidden as Ethel 
read the other hands, dealing sharp 
home-thrusts to all. 

“This is marvelous, Miss Stuart,” 
said Professor Stone; “you possess not 
only science, but great intuition. Where 
did you study?” 

“In Boston,” said Ethel. “While 
studying sciences 1 became interested in 
palmistry, and continued it for amuse- 
ment.” 

“It is fortune-telling,” said Robert 
stiffly. “I see nothing wonderful in it.” 

“It is not,” said Ethel firmly; “but a 
complete science based on absolute 
facts.” 


A MODERN PROPHETESS. 


172 

“That is true,” said Stone. “Only 
science could reveal my inmost 
thoughts.” 

“Any mind reader could do that,” said 
Robert ; “palmistry is only a fad. All 
new ideas seem truths. Some people 
say the soles of the foot reveal destiny.” 

Ethel’s eyes flashed, her cheeks were 
rosy. 

“That is absurd,” she said; “that is 
going to the last extremity. We have 
had enough of Trilby.” 

“Yes,” said Robert sharply. “Any 
common observer can read a person’s 
tastes by the face.” 

“But Miss Stuart doesn’t look at the 
face,” said Stone. “I claim, with her, 
that palmistry is an exact science.” 

“It is an absurd delusion,” said 
Robert. 

“One that you will see proved yet,” 
said the professor valiantly. 

“We will not discuss it,” said Ethel 
sweetly; “it is only ignorant people who 
doubt the significance of lines written by 
Nature itself. Maude, will you play for 
us?” 


A MODERN PROPHETESS. 


173 


“With pleasure,” said Maude; and 
music restored the harmony which 
Robert had disturbed, and the guests 
glided through the spacious rooms in the 
measures of the dance. 

Lieutenant Bradford, a handsome bru- 
nette, waltzed past Robert with Ethel. 

Robert clinched his teeth. “Can I 
ever forget it?” he said; “the brand of 
Cain? Miss Stuart, I detest you.” But 
he watched her with a kind of fascina- 
tion. “Whose fault is it,” he muttered, 
“that I am not a cultured man? What 
have I in common with these gay butter- 
flies?” 

But still he remained, watching Ethel, 
the belle, surrounded by admirers. 
“She attracts and she holds them,” he 
muttered. “The other women are more 
beautiful, but she possesses a charm they 
have not. I have no place here.” 

He left the house abruptly and taking 
a lantern w 7 ent over to the old mill. All 
night his lantern burned in the old ruin. 
He had one of his restless fits, when his 
strong young manhood rebelled against 
the blight on his honor. 


174 A MODERN PROPHETESS. 

Why should he not go away to a dis- 
tant land and work out his own career? 
He would go: he would be free. Then 
a woman’s pale face and sad brown eyes 
rose before him, and he heard again Mrs. 
Douglas plead: “Robert, don’t leave 
me. You are my only comfort. I trust 
you as my own son.” He had promised ; 
he could not break it. The burden must 
be borne. In the early dawn he crept 
back into the house, and Ethel, hearing 
him, said: “He is the rudest man I ever 
met; I am disgusted with him and 
will avoid him as much as possible.” 

And Robert having the same mind, 
they saw little of each other for days. 


A MODERN PROPHETESS. 


H5 


CHAPTER V. 

It was a bright summer morning, but 
Amanda felt especially cross. 

“Robert,” she said sharply, “why 
didn’t you walk home with the Dalton 
girls last night?” 

“Because I am not a lady’s cavalier,” 
he said harshly; “I am only a plain 
farmer.” 

“Yes,” said Amanda, “and the rudest 
bear I know. You vanished at ten 
o’clock. Where did you go?” 

She faced him insolently, her green 
eyes full of malice. 

“It is no matter,” he said harshly. “I 
am past seven ; I have known some people 
to die of curiosity suppressed. Be care- 
ful, Amanda, or you may die young.” 
He laughed harshly and left her. 

“You can see,” said Amanda to Ethel, 
“he grows worse everyday. After the 


1 


176 A MODERN PROPHETESS. 

disgrace lie brought here I should think 
he would act decently/’ 

“Never mind that,” said Mrs. Doug- 
las. 

“I will mind it,” said Amanda, like a 
wild colt, whose temper is uncontroll- 
able. “Ethel, Robert forged uncle’s will 
to get a share for himself. There!’’ 

Mrs. Douglas arose hastily and left 
them. Amanda’s temper, like a full 
tide, swept all before it. 

“Yes,’’ said Amanda, “and aunt covers 
it up.’’ 

“I am surprised,’’ said Ethel. “I 
wonder he stays here.’’ 

“It’s because he’s well off,’’ said 
Amanda. “He hasn’t got pluck enough 
to leave. Such rascality !’’ 

“No wonder I dislike him,” said Ethel, 
“if he is so dishonest.” 

Ethel forgot all about Robert as the 
days passed, filled with picnics, excur- 
sions and expeditions, till a strange inci- 
dent occurred which changed her entire 
life. 


A MODERN PROPHETESS. 


177 


CHAPTER VI. 

It was an oppressive day in August. 

Robert came in wearily and threw him, 
self down on the couch. He had been 
busy since early morn. Mrs. Douglas 
looked up from her sewing. 

“I wish you would not work so hard,” 
she said. 

* “It’s all the same,” he answered. “It 
fills up the time.” 

“Amanda has gone to a^tea party, and 
Ethel for a drive with the lieutenant.” 

“Yes,” said Robert sharply. “Mon- 
day she rode with Judge Creighton; 
Tuesday with that New York swell. 
Every day a different man. Fickle 
girl!” 

“She is not fickle,” said Mrs. Douglas, 
“but charming. Every one likes her.” 

“A mere butterfly,” said Robert bit- 
terly. “I doubt if she can cook a decent 


178 A MODERN PROPHETESS. 

meal. A pretty wife she would make 
for a man with a small salary.” 

“But she need not marry a man with 
small means,” said Mrs. Douglas; “she 
has plenty of chances for wealth. Be- 
sides she is not idle; she can paint pic- 
tures or write good articles.” 

“Mere play,” said Robert, “and her 
palmistry worse than either. She leads 
all her admirers a dance just for sport.” 

“Robert, she does not waste many 
smiles on you,” said Mrs. Douglas. 

“No, thank Heaven!” said Robert. 
“I am proof against her.” He felt irri- 
table. Why should Ethel always drift 
along on the sunny side of life? Her 
constant cheerfulness annoyed him. 

He fell asleep and when he awoke be- 
held a vision. Ethel, clad in fleecy white 
robes, calm as a June day, was sitting 
on the vine- shaded veranda. Her eyes, 
clear and sweet, gazed on the distant 
hills. 

Robert felt conscious of a strange in- 
terest. He rose slowly and joined her. 

“A beautiful view,” he said, watching 


A MODERN PROPHETESS. 179 

the moonlight on Ethel’s brown hair 
and fair face. 

“Yes,” 6he cried gayly. “Mrs. Doug- 
las and Amanda are out, and I am keep- 
ing house. How good Mrs. Douglas is, 
always helping some one.” 

“Yes,” said Robert, “in a quiet way 
without any public mission. She is not 
a butterfly.” 

“No,” said Ethel, “as most women are, 
in your estimation. You need not be so 
emphatic. You mean me. I wonder do 
you realize how rude you are?” 

“I believe in sincerity,” he said 
sharply. 

“So do I,” she said; “and I consider 
you very rude. You think it your mis- 
sion to make people uncomfortable.” 

“I suppose,” he said, “your male 
friends never say unpleasant things to 
you.” 

“They do not,” she said; “they re- 
spect me too highly.” 

“Exactly,” Robert laughed bitterly. 
“All women care for is money and ad- 
miration. Here comes the postman. 
Allow me.” 


180 A MODERN PROPHETESS. 

With elaborate courtesy Robert handed 
her a letter. Ethel opened it, little 
dreaming that fatal missive would 
change her whole life from prosperity to 
utter ruin. It was from her lawyer, and 
her face became ghastly as she read. 
Her heart almost ceased to beat, but 
she gave no outward sign. 

Robert watched her keenly. “One of 
her many lovers has likely threatened to 
blow out his brains,” he mused. 

How little he dreamed of the tragedy 
before his eyes. Ethel longed to be 
alone, to cry aloud, to hear one kindly 
word to give her courage to endure. 

She was alone, save for this hard, cruel 
misanthrope. Pride must aid her. She 
bit her pale lips till they were scarlet. 
Robert’s first words stung her sharply. 
A heavy book fell from the table. Robert 
picked it up. 

“Practical palmistry,” he said; “your 
most invaluable aid. It is a pity you 
were not born penniless. You could use 
this work to advantage. You could 
make a fortune.” 


A MODERN PROPHETESS. 


181 


She looked at him steadily. “I may 
try it some time.” 

“Never,” he said; “you, a proud aris- 
tocratic belle, take up that profession, 
come in contact with humanity. It is as 
impossible as for me to believe in it. I 
would sooner expect my mystery to be 
solved, and I freed from it.” 

“You will believe in it,” said Ethel 
firmly. “The greatest mysteries which 
have puzzled the best detectives have 
been solved by it. There is nothing hid- 
den from a skillful palmist. I am proud 
to be known as a palmist, which means 
scientist.” 

“I wonder,” said Robert, “you do not 
begin professionally. Marriage should 
be a woman’s aim. Why do you not 
make one man happy and let the rest 
proceed in peace?” 

“I do not regard marriage as a woman’s 
only aim,” she said. “I have read too 
many hands to believe many marriages 
are happy.” 

“There is nothing more detestable,” 
he said curtly, “than an old maid. They 


18$ A MODERN PROPHETESS. 

have no business of their own and are 
always meddling with other people’s. I 
am weary of these new women.” 

“And the new women are weary of the 
old bachelors,” she said, laughing. 

“You are seeking your ideal,” he said 
crossly; “you will never find him. 
Such men have never been born and 
never will be.” 

“Perhaps not,” Ethel said; “I am in 
no hurry to marry. Please do not worry 
over my matrimonial prospects.” 

“I am not worried,” he said. “I hate 
to see you make fools of so many men.” 

“Then be thankful you are not one,” 
she said lightly. 

“What does society amount to?” said 
Robert. “What could you do if you lost 
your fortune?” 

Ethel’s lips whitened. This strange 
new trouble choked her; she shivered. 
“I do not know,” she said. “Don’t 
speak of it.” 

“A woman has no nerve,” said Robert; 
“she cannot endure the mention of 
trouble. You would likely marry a man 


A MODERN PROPHETESS. 


183 


old enough to be your grandfather, like 
Judge Creighton.” 

“Perhaps; and if I did, what is it to 
you?” said Ethel proudly. 

“Nothing;” Robert bit his lip. 

“You must have met fine types of 
womanhood,” said Ethel. 

Robert recoiled. Violet’s fair, false 
face rose before him. 

“Yes,” he said, “I knew one— a beau- 
tiful girl, who deserted her lover at the 
first mention of his disgrace.” His face 
was haggard with the old pain. Ethel 
felt vaguely sorry for him. Her eyes 
softened. She spoke gently. 

“I am sorry,” she said, “you had such 
an experience.” 

“I do not want your pity,” he said 
harshly; “keep it for your victims. 
Thank Heavens ! I am not one.” 

Ethel rose. “I wonder,” she said, “if 
some men are born disagreeable and 
cannot help it? There ought to be a 
special petition in the Litany for them 
and their friends. Good afternoon.” 
With stately courtesy she left him and 
passed up the broad staircase. 


184 A MODERN PROPHETESS. 

“Proud as Lucifer!” mused Robert, 
“will she ever feel?” How little he real- 
ized the trouble she was enduring with- 
out one audible sign; yet women have no 
nerve. 

Ethel closed her door securely. With 
staring eyes she again read that fatal 
missive. 

“What can I de? What shall I do?” 
she moaned, turning her face to the 
wall. She could not bear the sunlight. 
She drew down the blinds. 

“I trusted him implicitly — my only 
relative, Uncle Seth. Perhaps Judge 
Creighton would know. No one must 
know. It must be a terrible mistake. 
How cruel of Robert to say those things. 
It took all my pride to keep still.” 
Silence reigned for hours, while Ethel 
faced the matter bravely. 


A MODERN PROPHETESS. 


185 


CHAPTEE VII. 

That evening there was a ball at 
Colonel Prescott’s. Ethel looked charm- 
ing; her cheeks were slightly flushed, 
her eyes like stars. Outwardly she was 
the embodiment of happiness. Inwardly 
she was desperate over a mysterious 
trouble. She was surrounded by ad- 
mirers. Judge Creighton, a stately, 
dark-eyed man, and Lieutenant Brad- 
ford, were especially devoted. 

Eobert, obeying an irresistible power, 
attended the ball. From a quiet corner 
he watched Ethel’s conquests with 
strange interest. He did not mingle with 
the guests. Ethel passed him, leaning 
on the handsome lieutenant’s arm. He 
was talking eagerly. 

“The most eligible man in New York,” 
mused Eobert bitterly. “How infat- 
uated he is. She will probably accept 


186 


A MODERN PROPHETESS. 


him. How dare he look at her so atten- 
tively, as if his very soul hung on her 
lips? What is it to me !” 

He hurried home. “I have had enough 
of balls. It is all foolishness.” 

Next morning he had an early break- 
fast. 

Amanda waited on him. “Well!” she 
said blandly, “Ethel has enough ad- 
mirers. Even that cynical judge is smit- 
ten; I can’t see why.” 

“Yes,” said Robert; “I wonder which 
she will take?” 

“She said she would marry the richest 
man,” said Amanda. “Bradford is 
worth millions. Likely she will take 
him. She said she pitied the woman 
who chose you, for your temper was the 
worst she ever knew.” 

“Did she say that?” asked Robert. A 
sharp pang touched him. 

“Yes,” said Amanda blandly, watching 
him. “She thinks you are the crudest 
specimen of raw material she ever saw.” 

Robert rose hastily. 

“You are always telling unpleasant re- 


A MODERN PROPHETESS. 187 

marks,” he said. “Crude as I am, she 
cannot impress me, as she does the rest.” 
He hurried out of the house, his cheeks 
burning. He had not been very kind to 
her, but she need not have ridiculed him 
to Amanda. Whose fault was it that his 
career was spoiled? The old wrong 
rankled within him like a cruel wound. 
There was no hope of escape from this 
prison of circumstances. He worked 
persistently and avoided Ethel. 

Amanda said to Ethel later: “Kobert 
is so queer. His crime has changed him 
into a woman-hater. He said you were 
the most heartless flirt he knew, and 
that you need not try your hand on him, 
for he despised flirts.” 

“He need not worry,” said Ethel, “I 
shall not try. What consummate con- 
ceit he has,” she mused. “How ignoble 
to remain here, a dependent on Mrs. 
Doulgas after his crime. I despise 
him.” 

So these two, both in sore mental dis- 
tress, misjudged each other. 

Ethel spent long mornings out in the 


188 


A MODERN PROPHETESS. 


fragrant old orchard studying palmistry. 
Her music and painting were laid en- 
tirely aside. 

“Another fad,” said Kobert bitterly. 

“A very sensible thing to do, if she 
likes it,” said Mrs. Douglas, who was 
rather puzzled that Ethel should prefer 
science to constant amusement. 

“A terrible waste of time,” said 
Amanda blandly, to her especial crony, 
Mrs. Markham; “one would think she 
was going to earn her fortune by it.” 

Amanda had never read a book 
through in her whole life. 

“They all say she’s wonderful,” said 
Mrs. Markham, “reading people’s 
thoughts. She finds out all their 
secrets, that’s sure.” 

“I don’t believe it,” said Amanda. 
“How can simple lines tell that? But I 
know she tells love affairs straight. 
There comes Deacon Walters. I must 
ask him about next Sunday’s funeral. 
Good-by.” 

Amanda left her friend hastily and ac- 
costed the deacon. 


A MODERN PROPHETESS. 189 

“How do,” she said sweetly. “Are 
you going to the funeral Sunday, Dea- 
con Walters?” 

The deacon, a thin, small man, with 
keen, blue eyes, stopped his high- 
spirited horse. “How do,” he said 
graciously. “I hadn’t decided, but I 
might go, I s’pose.” 

He looked at Amanda meditatively. 

“1 wanted to go,” she said; “but 
Robert needs the horse, and I s’pose I 
must stay home, unless you could take 
me.” 

“I would be glad to,” he said. 

“Thanks, ever so much,” she said, 
beaming on him. “I felt so sorry Tor 
that young man. Awful, wasn’t it?” 

“I have not heard any particulars,” 
said the deacon. “Whoa there, Billy! 
This horse is dreadful skittish.” 

“Andrew Jones shot himself because 
Lizzie Stone wouldn’t marry him. She 
is a heartless flirt, I think. I never knew 
him, but I think every one ought to at- 
tend the funeral.” 

“Hem! yes, I s’pose so,” said the dea- 


190 


A MODERN PROPHETESS. 


con. “He never ’mounted to much. 
Drank like a toper. Whoa there, Bill. 
My horse won’t stand, Miss Amandy. 
I’ll call at two Sunday.” Billy started 
as if the evil spirits were after him. 

Amanda entered the house radiant. 
She loved to attend funerals; she loved 
the deacon. Hence came her happiness. 


A MODERN PROPHETESS. 


191 


CHAPTER VIII. 

It was Sunday, an oppressively warm 
day. Robert entered the library. 
“Every one out,” he said. “Amanda is 
blissfully happy, gone with the deacon 
to Andrew Jones’ funeral. She enjoys 
funerals as other people do theaters. 
She is after the deacon. I hope she 
may get him, then poor Mrs. Douglas 
will have a rest from her rule. Miss 
Ethel is likely flirting — her usual occu- 
pation — or studying that detestable 
palmistry.” 

He fell asleep on the couch. When he 
awoke dark shadows lay on the floor. 
He rose suddenly and then heard voices 
on the veranda. He could not leave 
the room without passing the people 
outside. He tried not to hear, but the 
voices were perfectly audible. Ethel 
and Lieutenant Bradford were outside. 


192 


A MODERN PROPHETESS. 


“Ethel,” said the lieutenant eagerly, 
“I have loved you from the first. You 
are so sincere, so womanly. Do not tell 
me there is no hope. I will wait a little 
while longer and give you time.” 

“It would not be right, ’’Ethel’s sweet 
voice faltered. “I do not love you. I 
could not accept so much from you and 
give nothing in return. Try and forget 
me.” 

“I cannot do that,” he said brokenly; 
“you have filled my whole heart and 
soul. You make me feel stronger and 
braver always.” 

“I am so sorry you care,” she said. 
Tears filled her eyes. 

“Do not send me away,” he pleaded, 
with the manly eloquence of a devoted 
lover. His dark eyes spoke his sincer- 
ity. Ethel saw as in a vision a dreary, 
uncertain future, shadowed by another’s 
injustice. The lieutenant was a noble, 
gallant soldier, gifted with wealth and 1 
position. Then a dark, tragic face, with 
impenetrable eyes, came before her. 

“I cannot,” she said. She wept con- 
vulsively. 


A MODERN PROPHETESS. 


193 


The lieutenant was a gentleman. 

“I will not distress you,” he said, his 
voice quivering. “May God bless and 
keep you.” 

He could not say more. This was the 
hardest battle he had ever fought, and 
long would be the time ere he conquered 
his love. He gazed at her as one would 
take a last farewell of the dead. 

She looked very fair and sweet in the 
silvery moonlight, her head slightly 
bowed, and tears glistening in her clear 
eyes. 

Then the lieutenant passed slowly 
down the walk. A few minutes after 
she heard his horse galloping rapidy 
away. 

Ethel wept quietly. Was this the 
curse of Eve — to win man’s love, and re- 
main indifferent? The lieutenant was so 
noble. 

Robert’s heart bounded like a bird 
which, imprisoned, suddenly is freed. 
Among the dead ashes of his sad past 
love revived. She was not mercenary, 
else why had she rejected such a gallant 


194 


A MODERN PROPHETESS. 


lover? Before he could stir from his in- 
voluntary hiding-place he heard Judge 
Creighton’s musical voice. Fate was 
bent on teaching Robert some lessons in 
faith this night. 

“I am glad to find you alone,” said 
the judge. “I wish to see you espe- 
cially.” 

Robert clinched his hands in the dark- 
ness. 

“Is he going to propose too?” he mut- 
tered. “She would accept him.” 

Judge Creighton was considered the 
most brilliant, talented man in New 
York, and was a candidate for governor, 
with every possible chance of election. 
He was very handsome, in a dark, majes- 
tic style, and his manners were perfec- 
tion. 

Ethel started violently. “Good-even- 
ing,” she said, ignoring his peculiar 
tone. “Will you be seated?” 

“Thank you.” His keen eyes noted 
her emotion. He had met Lieutenant 
Bradford, and readily understood his 
pale, worn face. 


A MODERN PROPHETESS. ( 195 

“I met Bradford,” he said softly; “he 
nearly rode over me; seemed to be in 
great haste.” 

“Yes,” said Ethel, “he joins his regi- 
ment at daybreak for Dakota.” 

What pitiless eyes the judge had ! She 
would never reveal the lieutenant’s 
trouble to him. 

“Yes,” said the judge very gravely. 
“Miss Stuart, I am very sorry you are 
troubled. Can I help you?” 

“What do you mean?” Ethel’s face 
whitened, but her voice was firm. Did 
he know of this strange trouble which 
was wearing her life away? 

“I mean,” he spoke very softly, “I 
know all. You have acted well, with 
most admirable nerve and self-control. 
No one knows but me. I shall not be- 
tray you if ” 

Ethel made one last effort. She was 
majestic, with her proud head erect, 
every nerve tense with self-control. 

“Tell me,” she said proudly, “I am 
not apt at guessing.” 

The judge’s admiration grew. “ Affec- 


196 A MODERN PROPHETESS. 

tion,” he said softly, “makes us quick to 
discern below the surface.” 

Ethel’s heart almost ceased to beat. 

“I know,” he said, “you are penniless. 
Your uncle has embezzled all your for- 
tune and fled. He has forged notes 
against me. Shall I punish him or not? 
The decision lies with 3 7 ou.” 

“I don’t understand,” said Ethel wear- 
ily. Earth seemed slipping away. A 
huge flood was ready to overwhelm her. 
Judge Creighton alone held it back. 

Under the spell of his strong magnet- 
ism Ethel became mute. 

“Your ancestors,” said the judge, 
“have been free from dishonor hereto- 
fore. It need not touch you now if” — 
he paused. 

“Speak,” said Ethel, suddenly break- 
ing the icy spell which bound her. 
“What is it you desire?” 

“I desire you for my wife,” said the 
judge, in cold, measured accents. “The 
world will never know your uncle’s dis- 
grace. Pride is dearer to you than life.” 

A terrible humility crushed Ethel to 


A MODERN PROPHETESS. 


197 


the earth. Lieutenant Bradford had 
offered her love without price, and this 
merciless man offered it as the price of 
her uncle’s honor. 

“But I do not love you,” she said 
coldly. 

“That makes no difference,” he said. 
“You have fascinated, charmed me as no 
other woman has ever done. You are 
not fitted for poverty. You cannot earn 
your own living. You cannot bear the 
public disgrace of your uncle.” Very 
eloquently he pleaded disgrace and pov- 
erty against wealth, honor, all the world 
holds dear. Ethel was very weary. For 
three months she had suffered this dis- 
grace and given no sign. The end had 
come. 

“And if I refuse?” she said. The 
judge gazed at the proud, white face. 

“Then the world must know. The 
notes were mine. They signify heavy 
losses, but for your sake ” 

“Stop,” Ethel raised her hand; “I can 
bear no more. Leave me, please.” 

“As you will.” The judge touched 


198 A MODERN PROPHETESS. 

her hand lightly. Ethel shuddered. 
Was this love he offered her, or selfish- 
ness? 

“I have won her,” thought the judge, 
as he passed down the avenue. “It was 
a lucky day when her old uncle forged 
those notes. How proud she is. She 
will sacrifice all for that indomitable 
pride.” 

Ethel sat alone in the moonlight. The 
strain would soon be over. She could 
not bear sympathy. She would not ask 
for it. She would marry Judge Creigh- 
ton. He was very talented. He seemed 
like a majestic marble monument, far 
above all earthly emotion. 


A MODERN PROPHETESS. 


199 


CHAPTER IX. 

“Miss Stuart,” said Robert, appear- 
ing, “the air is chilly. Will you have a 
shawl?” 

“Thank you, I am going in.” Ethel 
spoke in wonder. He had never offered 
her any service before or spoken so 
gently. 

“You are in trouble?” he said. “Can 
I help you?” 

“No one can help me,” she said wear- 
ily. “Some people must suffer in ex- 
piration for others.” 

“Do you suffer?” he said. “I am 
sorry.” 

Ethel felt moved to tell him. No, 
what interest could he have in her 
affairs? 

“I have suffered for years,” he said, 
“and will always.” 




200 


A MODERN PROPHETESS. 


“But it was your own doing,’ * Ethel 
said. 

“Never!” His eyes flashed. “I am 
as innocent as yourself.” He laughed 
bitterly. “You have heard the disgrace- 
ful story. You believe it, like all the. 
rest, except Mrs. Douglas.” His tone 
softened. “Only a miracle could prove 
my innocence, and the days of mira- 
cles are past.” 

“No,” said Ethel, “miracles occur 
every day. Tell me all.” 

She felt vaguely remorseful. Had she 
wronged him? If so, she must atone. 
One method would prove it. 

“Ethel,” said Amanda, “do you know 
it is midnight? Robert, are you here? 
I am surprised.” 

“It is a glorious night,” said Robert 
curtly; “nothing surprising that we 
lingered. How was the funeral?” 

“It is the last one I ever attend,” said 
Amanda crossly. “The deacon’s horse 
ran away into the funeral procession, up- 
set two carriages and broke my bonnet 
all to pieces. It’s a pity the deacon 


A MODERN PROPHETESS. 201 

can’t drive a sober horse, especially for 
such occasions.” 

“You must teach him better,” said 
Robert gravely, “when you marry him. 
It’s a wonder you didn’t have a funeral 
of your own.” 

Amanda, with her spring bonnet all 
mashed in, was a comical figure. 

Ethel laughed hysterically. It was a 
relief after the tragic events of the past 
hours. 

“It was no fun for me,” said Amanda 
crossly. “When I go again with that 
cantankerous old horse, I’ll know it. If 
I didn’t know that you and Robert hated 
each other so, I should judge you’d been 
spooning out here so late.” 

“We never spoon,” said Robert curtly ; 
“we leave that for you.” 

He walked into the house. Did Ethel 
hate him? Why should she not? He 
certainly had been rude and unkind. 
How he had wronged her. She had 
been making an heroic struggle and 
given no sign. 

Ethel pondered over many matters 
that long summer night. 


202 A MODERN PROPHETESS. 

“I will study the judge well,” she 
mused; “his hand will be a silent wit- 
ness, whether he can make me happy. 
Is Robert innocent? He cannot be. 
Proof is too strong. A divine power has 
written indelibly his past upon his palm. 
I will know what it contains.” 


A MODERN PROPHETESS. 


203 


CHAPTER X. 

It was the 31st of October and a bright 
fire was blazing in the grate in the library 
at Douglas Manor. Ethel was studying 
intently a book on palmistry, Mrs. 
Douglas was sewing, Amanda talking 
volubly to the deacon. She had quite 
forgiven Billy’s mishap. Before the 
evening passed she expected he would 
propose. She was thinking how she 
could get rid of the rest when Judge 
Creighton appeared. Mrs. Douglas rose 
to retreat, but Ethel nodded in dissent. 
Robert sat watching her. The judge 
seemed rather surprised at Ethel’s desire 
to retain the rest. 

“Still studying?” he said. 

“Yes,” she said quietly. “I expect to 
take up palmistry professionally in New 
York.” 

“Impossible,” he said in surprise. 


204 


A MODERN PROPHETESS. 


“Quite possible,” said Ethel. 

“I should think she would,” said 
Amanda, “the way affairs come true 
that she tells.” 

The judge smiled. “Undoubtedly,” he 
said, “Miss Stuart possesses great talent 
for that science, but she is not aware 
that she would be classed among com- 
mon fortune-tellers.” 

“Palmistry is as far above fortune-tell- 
ing as stars above the earth,” said Ethel. 
“It is a science founded on facts known 
centuries ago. I shall maintain its 
dignity.” 

“When you can prove to me,” said the 
judge, “that it reveals one’s hidden qual- 
ities— the inner self— I will believe it. 
What do you say, Mr. Hilton?” 

“When it will reveal innocence and 
discover the criminal, I shall believe,” 
said Robert. 

“Two against one,” said Ethel quietly; 
“as a penalty you must both have your 
hands read.” 

“You can possess my hand at any 
time,” said the judge in a low voice. 


A MODERN PROPHETESS. 


205 


Ethel flushed slightly as she took the 
judge’s hand. If that silent witness re- 
vealed him to be noble, sincere, she 
would marry him. She had known the 
most profound secrets revealed by the 
hand. 

The judge extended a large, shapely 
hand. She studied it attentively. “A 
Jupiterian type, great ambition, will 
power, command over men, talent and 
eloquence; the heart line wanting 
almost entirely; keen intellect; great 
success.” 

“Is that all?” he asked. 

“Yes.” 

“Marriages?” he asked. 

“None,” she said quietly. 

“Are you in earnest?” 

“I am,” she said, “as far as you are 
concerned.” 

He bit his lip. “Why?” 

“Because you are cold, critical, incapa- 
ble of real affection,” she said. “One 
would literally be frozen to death in 
heart and soul who married you.” 

This talk was inaudible to the rest. 


206 


A MODERN PROPHETESS. 


“Come,” said Amanda, “let us hear 
the result.” 

“I bow to Miss Stuart’s decision,” he 
said, “and will explain later.” He was 
furious that she had read his cold, merci- 
less nature so correctly. 

Robert looked strangely elated. 

“I will punish him,” thought the judge. 

“I propose,” he said blandly, “that 
Mr. Hilton have his hand read. There is 
a mystery there which you can unveil 
probably with your remarkable intui- 
tion.” 

“And if I refuse?” said Robert, his 
eyes flashing. 

“Then our opinion will remain the 
same — that you are guilty,” said the 
judge blandly. 

There was dead silence. They all 
glanced at each other, with pale, startled 
faces. The clock ticked monotonously. 
The firelight cast queer shadows on Mr. 
Douglas’ portrait. The stern lips seemed 
to move entreatingly toward Robert as if 
to speak. 

The judge knew of Robert’s disgrace. 


A MODERN PROPHETESS. 207 

His keen eyes to-night read in his dark 
face rightly the repressed feeling in his 
steadfast eyes. Ethel spoke first. She 
believed Robert guilty. She declined to 
publicly expose the old crime. “I de- 
cline to read Mr. Hilton’s hand,” she 
said “without his consent.” 

“He has been exposed in one in- 
stance,” said Amanda; “probably he 
would not dare have more revealed.” 

“Amanda, I protest,” said Mrs. Doug- 
las; “this is unkind, unjust. I believe 
he is innocent, and I alono am the one 
to judge.” 

Robert arose erect, proud, and faced 
them all, his accusers. They all but 
one believed him guilty. 

“Miss Stuart,” he said, “do you be- 
lieve the hand can reveal secrets known 
only to their owner?” 

“I do,” she said gravely. “The hand 
has proved a silent and truthful witness 
where detectives have failed.” 

“And can a hand proclaim a person’s 
innocence?” he asked eagerly. 

“Yes, most assuredly,” she said. “A 


208 


A MODERN PROPHETESS. 


man accused of murder was proven inno- 
cent by his own hand, and the culprit 
found later, who confessed. ” 

“I suppose an offense like forgery,” 
said the iudge coolly, “would not be in- 
dicated?” 

“Yes.” Ethel’s lips were white. 
Would he reveal her secret? Probably. 
His hand had put her on guard and had 
revealed the real nature of the judge as 
years of friendship could not have done. 

Robert drew a chair to her. “Then,” 
he said slowly, extending his hand, “I 
am ready for your decision.” 

Ethel studied it carefully. Here was 
the real nature, innocent or guilty. 


A MODERN PROPHETESS. 209 

s 


CHAPTER XI. 

All listened eagerly ; the judge with 
a sarcastic smile and Amanda with some 
strong emotion which made her eyes 
glitter strangely. 

Ethel forgot all else. She saw re- 
flected as in a mirror a strong, noble 
nature, cruelly repressed, and suffering 
keenly under injustice. And as she 
studied she saw something more— an in- 
tense love for some fair woman of which 
he was yet unconscious. She had been 
cruelly prejudiced. She would own her 
mistake. Pity and sympathy surged 
within her like a flood. 

“We are waiting,” said Amanda 
sharply. “Robert’s hand must be a 
whole volume.” <- 

“It is,” said Ethel; “a whole volume 
of nohle manhood, falsely accused, 
blighted under the most terrible injus- 
tice.” 


aio 


A MODERN PROPHETESS. 


“Indeed!” said Amanda. “Do you 
mean Robert is innocent?” 

“I declare him utterly and absolutely 
innocent,” said Ethel, rising. “He has 
noble principles. He is utterly incapa- 
ble of forgery, or any crime.” 

Robert’s eyes softened. “Thank you,” 
he said gratefully. 

“But the proof?” said the judge. 
“That sounds well. But how can you 
convince the world, Miss Stuart?” 

“As I will convince you,” she said. 
“If the whole world declared him guilty 
I would not believe. His hand, written 
in divine characters, declares his inno- 
cence.” 

“Who did it, if he v didn’t?”s aid Aman- 
da. “Next, Ethel will think she is 
Moses, and ask the sun to stand still; or 
was it he who lighted the burning bush?” 

Amanda’s ideas were rather mixed. 

“We need no further proof,” said Mrs. 
Douglas. “I have always known he 
'cvas innocent.” 

“But who was the man?” said Amanda 
sharply. 


A MODERN PROPHETESS. 


211 


“It was not a man,” said Ethel slowly; 
. “it was a woman.” 

“That’s great!” Amanda almost 
shrieked. “Perhaps you can tell her 
name.” 

“I can,” said Ethel. “Let me see 
your hand.” 

“Nonsense,” said Amanda. Her face 
grew livid. “This is an outrage,” she 
said. “Aunt, order Ethel out of the 
house. I will not submit.” 

“Amanda,” said Mrs. Douglas, “be 
quiet. Why should you dread that 
Ethel should read your hand?” 

Amanda submitted, though scarlet 
with anger. If only the deacon was not 
there ! 

Ethel took her slender white hand. 
Here, in pink and white, were malice, 
jealousy and — crime. Yes, there was no 
mistake. 

Ethel arose. “The search is ended,” 
she said; “here is the criminal.” 

“It’s a falsehood,” said Amanda. 
“Robert alone is the guilty one.” 

All Ethel’s pity vanished. “He has 


212 


A MODERN PROPHETESS. 


suffered enough,” she said, “through 
you; don’t add to it.” 

“Ethel, is this true?” said Mrs. Doug- 
las. “Are you positive?” 

“Absolutely,” said Ethel; “or there is 
no truth in palmistry.” 

“Amanda, have you allowed Robert to 
suffer all these years for your fault?*’ 
said Mrs. Douglas. 

Amanda’s eyes were downcast. She 
shook with fright. She dared not deny 
it. 

“Answer me,” said Mrs. Douglas; “I 
will know.” 


A MODERN PROPHETESS. 


213 


CHAPTER XII. 

“Yes, it’s true,” said Amanda sul- 
lenly. “You always favored Robert. I 
couldn’t stand it. I forged the will. 
Uncle wanted Robert to marry me. He 
refused. I determined he should pay 
for it, and he did.” There was no regret 
in her tone. 

Robert thought of the years wasted ; 
of his ambition cruelly repressed ; so did 
Mrs. Douglas. 

‘This is dreadful,” she said, “abomina- 
ble. You have made him suffer all these 
years. You shall sign a confession and 
he shall be publicly cleared.” 

In vain Amanda shrieked and pleaded. 
The confession was written and signed, 
and then Amanda’s fury gave full vent. 

“Ethel Stuart,” she said, “I hate you. 
I know your secret. Your learned uncle 
committed forgery, and you are a beg- 


214 


A MODERN PROPHETESS. 


gar. I heard Judge Creighton tell you 
so.” 

They all were speechless. Ethel drew 
her figure erect till she towered over 
Amanda. 

“It is true,” she said, “but it is not 
my fault.” 

Judge Creighton made no effort to re- 
lieve her cruel embarrassment. He hoped 
she might suffer. He was merciless. 

Ethel’s weary eyes gazed hopelessly 
around. 

“Is this true, Ethel?” said Mrs. Doug- 
las, bewildered. 

“Yes,” Ethel said. 

“I am very sorry,” said Mrs. Douglas; 
“of course it is no fault of yours.” 

Eobert made one bound to her side. 
Ethel grew suddenly white. She 
swayed unsteadily, then recovered her- 
self. He placed his strong arm around 
her and led her to a seat. 

“This is what comes of palmistry,” 
screamed Amanda. “Ethel Stuart ought 
to be turned out.” 

“Keep still,” said the deacon; “what’s 
the use of such a row?” 


A MODERN PROPHETESS. 215 

This settled Amanda. She uttered a 
hysterical scream. 

“Nobody knows where the right will 
is,” she said, “that gives Robert half; 
and they never will know.” 

She leaned heavily against her uncle’s 
portrait. There was a snapping, a sud- 
den jar, and the heavy portrait fell on 
the floor. All rushed forward. Amanda 
was unhurt, but the back of the picture 
was split in two. There was revealed 
the missing will, and Robert as the right- 
ful heir. 

“Found at last,” said Mrs. Douglas, 
reading it. “Robert, my son, how I have 
grieved over your trouble.” She laid her 
hand upon his arm tenderly. 

“You never doubted me,” said Robert 
tenderly. The old gloom departed from 
his eyes. He stood erect, like a man 
suddenly released from a heavy burden. 
Life was renewed. His honor was re- 
stored, and by the silent witness of his 
own hand, interpreted by a woman whom 
he had doubted. Could he ever atone? 
He feared not. 


’218 A MODERN PROPHETESS. 

“Miss Stuart,” be said, “I doubted 
you. I cannot find words to express my 
gratitude. You have established my in- 
nocence and made life bright once 
more.” 

“I am very glad,” she said. His voice 
thrilled her strangely. 

“Yes,” said the judge curtly. “Now 
as she read so much on your hand, you 
cannot do less than offer it to her. It’s 
a very pretty little scene and needs only 
a wedding to complete it. I am de trop y 
so I withdraw. Good-evening.” 


A MODERN PROPHETESS. 


217 


CHAPTER XIII. 

The stately judge withdrew in anger 
and disgust. His hand had been a 
silent witness against him; and ever 
after he was wont to speak bitterly 
against palmistry. Likewise did Aman- 
da. She departed to a distant city, 
where no one knew of her crime, and 
where no detestable palms were raised; 
and with her departure peace and happi- 
ness reigned at Douglas Manor such as 
had never been known in her days of 
iron rule. Robert regained his old gen- 
iality and no longer shunned his fellow 
creatures. 

Violet endeavored to win back his old 
affection, but it was dead forever. 
Robert’s ideal was a womanly woman; 
such Ethel had proved to be. 

Ethel, true to her resolve, went to New 
York and gained fame and fortune in her 


218 A MODERN PROPHETESS. 

profession, and her uncle’s disgrace 
could not harm her. She had conquered 
her pride. 

One day as she sat in her parlor the 
door opened quietly and Robert ap- 
peared. He looked ten years younger 
and very different from the moody man 
she had known. She greeted him cor- 
dially, but quietly. 


A MODERN PROPHETESS. 


219 


CHAPTER XIV. 

“Mrs. Douglas wants you,” he said. 
“The roses are in bloom and your pale 
cheeks need them. Are you weary of 
palms? Can you descend to earth for 
a while?” 

Ethel smiled. There were pathetic 
lines around her mouth. 

“Earth is good enough for me,” she 
said. “I am weary of study and work 
and society. Take me home.” 

Mrs. Douglas gave her cordial welcome. 
They sat on the veranda in the still sum- 
mer night, the air sweet with rose per- 
fume. Mrs. Douglas rose quietly and 
left them. 

Robert told her how he had heard 
Bradford and the judge propose to her. 
“You refused wealth and position,” he 
said; “I wondered why.” 

“Because I did not love them,” she 


£20 A MODERN PROPHETESS. 

said. Her clear eyes met his own. His 
eager eyes read hers truly. Then his 
firm hand closed on hers, and drawing 
her closely to him his lips murmured 
his love. And Ethel did not refuse him. 
Like a bird, weary of struggle, she 
nestled closely to him. So Robert Hil- 
ton’s vindication was complete and the 
prophecy was realized. 


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